


Adligamentum

by Lamenta



Series: Graduum libertatis [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anders uses magic during sex, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood Magic, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Domestic Fluff, Endgame turning post game, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, Isabela should not be around kids, Lore Divergence, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Sex Magic, Sex in Semi-Public Places, Solitary Confinement, Triggers, Unhealthy Relationships, Varric is kind of a voyeur, beware one very adorable child, tattooing, unplanned parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke, Anders and the Hero of Ferelden returned to Kirkwall to find it burning to the ground.</p><p>This series is following the events of "Suscitatio" and presents the fourth installment of the "Graduum Libertatis" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my editor Lizziebug <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the explosion that tore Kirkwall apart.  
> Varric is looking for help, Hawke is looking for answers. Anders is looking for Fenris.

Deafening screams and cries echoed through the streets, accompanied by the sounds of collapsing buildings, heavy boots hurrying over cobbled stone, childrens calling for their mothers. The smoke hung thick and heavy in the sky, threatening to suffocate whoever didn’t make it out fast enough.

 

The smell of burned flesh, sickeningly sweet, made him want to refuse to breathe. The envenomed air already made it hard enough to fill his lungs, but burned flesh was not something he wanted to overwhelm his senses with on top of that.

 

Varric jumped aside when a panicked Guardsman threatened to run him over, screaming at the top of his lungs, terror visible in his features, like he had just faced an Archdemon. Varric hissed when his burned arm connected with the wall, the searing pain enough to almost make him black out. He’d be amazed if there was still skin attached to it.

 

Varric drew a shaky breath and allowed himself a moment’s rest as his mind replayed the events of the day.

The first explosion that tore apart the Chantry had the Keep shake to its very foundations, knocking over his mug of ale and ruining the letters he’d just been reading for Hawke. Only a second after, the windows burst and Varric sought shelter under the desk to avoid injury. From beneath the desk, he had seen Fenris’ feet as the elf dashed off to find out what happened. He vaguely remembered Fenris telling him to stay where he was but that could just be his mind tricking him. Fenris knew Varric was not someone who needed to be protected, though the notion in itself was sweet.

 

It was only moments, maybe just seconds, before a series of explosions rocked Kirkwall’s entire foundations, starting in the Chantry courtyard, across the Square, tearing apart buildings, monuments and people. Varric had known what was about to come before it actually happened and he remembered screaming for Fenris at the top of his lungs to brace himself, hoping it would reach the warrior’s keen elven ears over the noise.

 

The force of the explosion that tore the Keep apart and made it collapse right beneath his feet was unlike anything Varric had ever experienced. He screamed as he fell, as fire burned his clothing and the skin underneath and eventually, his fall was stopped. Varric felt a few ribs crack as his body landed heavily on hard ground, the impact stealing his breath for a few moments while he was buried beneath rubble and dust.

 

Darkness. So tempting to give into it, Varric thought. His ears were ringing as he lay on the ground, the rubble heavy on top of him and threatening to crush.

 

Varric had no memory of how he’d made it out of there. His survival instincts must have kicked in, urging him to free himself and get out. Find Fenris. Find the one responsible for this. Inform Hawke. Tell _someone_ who could clear up this mess.

 

What he’d seen once he’d made it out of the collapsed Keep had his blood run cold.

 

 

“Shit,” Varric muttered and slowly continued his way, limping along the wall in hope to avoid further unwanted impacts with fleeing people. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was he hoped to find in this chaos but he couldn’t just sit down and wait, no matter how much he wanted to.

 

A tall, strong body collided with his and Varric found himself thrown back, landing heavily on his ass with a grunt.

 

“Varric?”

 

The dwarf blinked and glanced up. The relief he felt almost had him pass out for the second time within minutes.

 

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke. You’re back!”

 

Garrett Hawke stared wide-eyed at his dwarven friend. His hair was tousled, face covered in dirt, ashes and blood. He was panting harshly and Varric didn’t have to guess the man’s reaction upon returning to find Kirkwall burning to the ground.

 

A strong arm grabbed him and Varric bit back a shout as Hawke pulled him back on his feet before kneeling in front of him.

 

“Maker’s breath, Varric, what _happened_?” Hawke demanded angrily and shook him a little. “ _What_ happened?”

 

“Easy, Hawke,” Varric hissed and pulled his injured arm free.

  
“Where’s Fenris? Aveline, Isabela, Merrill, where _are_ they?” Bodahn, Sandal, Orana. So many. Too many.

 

“And where’s Blondie?” Varric shouted back and Hawke frowned before glancing around hastily. He had believed the mage to be right behind him when he started to run and hadn’t stopped once since.

 

“I – I don’t know,” Hawke admitted.

 

“Fenris was in the Keep when it blew up,” Varric muttered. “I don’t know where he is now, or if he is even still alive.”

 

Brown eyes widened at him. Varric couldn’t remember ever having seen Garrett Hawke _scared_.

 

“I have not seen any of the others today. Fuck, Hawke, you won’t believe what I saw when I –“

 

“Hawke! Varric!”

 

Hawke spun around. “Anders!” he called for the mage and Varric allowed himself a small sigh of relief upon seeing Anders alive and well as he came running for them.

 

Anders crouched down next to him, his trembling hands cupping Varric’s face. Again, Varric hissed when the touch made him aware of another nasty burn on his cheek, then sighed loudly when the mage’s soothing healing magic seeped into him, taking away the pain.

 

“Varric,” Anders murmured, thumbs caressing over the dwarf’s cheeks. “Varric, where is…?”

 

“I don’t know, Blondie,” Varric admitted quietly. “I couldn’t find him.”

 

For a moment, Anders looked like he was going to burst into tears; instead, Varric watched him swallow audibly.

 

“What happened?” Hawke asked once again.

 

“Someone used my explosive,” Anders murmured, “right?”

 

“Not someone. Meredith,” Varric stated. “When I finally got out of the Keep, I saw her standing there, declaring that the mages have brought this upon Kirkwall and invoked the Right of Annulment, to serve justice, as she said.”

 

Anders grimaced. “What does that bitch know about _justice_?” he spat angrily.

 

“She ordered her Templars to follow her to the Gallows.” Varric shook his head. “Cullen and a few others objected and Cullen right-out accused her of being the one responsible. He had Orsino with him. I don’t know what happened afterwards, I don’t even know what she was _doing_ there anyway. All I wanted was to get away. Maybe find Aveline, let her know the Circle is in need of protection. Meredith had this… _thing_ …”

  
“What thing?” Hawke asked.

 

“Remember the idol we found in the Deep Roads? The one Bartrand abandoned us for?”

 

Hawke and Anders nodded.

  
“She was carrying it with her and Hawke, I swear by Andraste’s pearly ass, that _thing_ turned into a sword, right before my fucking eyes.” Varric coughed. “She had the same look on her face as Bartrand.” The dwarf grabbed Anders’ arm and shook him almost violently. “Do you get what I’m saying?” he barked.

 

“It poisoned her mind,” Anders murmured, “like it did with Bartram.”

 

“Maker’s _balls_ ,” Hawke groaned.

 

“You go to the Gallows and do whatever is necessary,” Anders said and straightened his back. “I have to find Fenris.”

 

“Blondie, this city is utter chaos right now,” Varric grunted out. “I doubt Fenris made it out of the Keep fast enough, he ran off when the Chantry blew up and -- “

 

“Don’t,” Anders demanded and shook his head. “Don’t even go there, Varric, this is _my_ elf we are speaking of and Fenris doesn’t just…”

 

“There is _nothing_ left of the Keep,” the dwarf informed the upset mage.

 

“He was supposed to _stay_ with you,” Anders suddenly snapped furiously.  “Why let him run off, blighted dwarf!”

 

“Anders, this is hardly Varric’s fault,” Hawke argued.

 

“Blondie, listen – I couldn’t find Fenris when I got out. I don’t know if he was outside before the Keep blew up, or still inside. It was only minutes between the Chantry and the Keep and –“ Varric shook his head with a pained expression. “If Fenris ended up buried or took the same fall I did, if he _is_ out there somewhere, I am sure he can manage. It’s useless trying to dig a path through that mess right now, especially all on your own.”

 

“I’m a mage, in case you have forgotten.”

 

“And your fellow mages are in severe danger right now,” Hawke pointed out. “Come with us to the Gallows. We _will_ find Fenris, I promise.”

 

“I want him alive, Garrett,” Anders hissed at his best friend. “Not _dead_.” He gestured around. “Find the others. I’m going to the Keep.”

 

Hawke took a deep breath and Varric could see the warrior was ready to snap. Quickly, he reached out and gave him a gentle push, accompanied with a shake of his head.

 

“Find Fenris,” Varric told Anders calmly. “We will see you at the Gallows. Hurry.”

 

“Anders –“ Hawke started to object but the mage turned around and started to run into the direction Varric had come from, disappearing behind a curtain of black smoke.

 

“Let him,” Varric said. “If he faces Meredith now, without knowing what happened to Fenris, he’ll blow up what’s left of this place in his rage. Vengeance showing his face in our current situation is _exactly_ what Meredith needs to prove her damn point.”

 

Hawke grimaced at that, the memory of Anders summoning shades in the Warden prison still fresh on his mind.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

 

~*~

 

Kirkwall was barely recognizable anymore and Anders wandered through its ruins, looking for something that would point him into the right direction. He felt reminded of Amaranthine and the Darkspawn attack, all those years ago; the city burning, the streets cluttered with corpses or people that would soon be one. Most were burned beyond recognition, others had been crushed under rubble, collapsed roofs and walls. Now and then, one would show a cracked-open skull, a severed head or a dagger in their chest, the deeds of the desperate or Guards and Templars trying to restore order and eliminating those who threatened it.

 

Each time he came across a man or a woman calling weakly for help, Anders felt his fingers twitch and a demanding voice in the back of his skull telling him to stop, to linger for a moment, to have mercy, to _heal_ but for once, the mage forced himself to ignore it. Not easy for a Spirit Healer to act against his nature, but he had so often been selfless, giving, saving whom he could – not tonight. Tonight, the only thing that mattered was finding Fenris, and not even Compassion could disagree with him, even though it wailed in his mind.

 

Anders looked up, eyes squinting and his heartbeat sped up when he finally found what he was looking for – the ruins of one of the watchtowers of the Keep, a banner wearing the Kirkwall emblem draped over the collapsed top, burning away to nothing. He hurried for the equally collapsed stair-case and slowly climbed up, careful not to step on the many dead bodies that seemed to lead the way.

 

Once at the top, his heart sank, amber eyes wide in disbelief. The Keep had literally _disappeared_ , swallowed by an enormous hole in the ground.

 

“Maker, _no_ ,” he whimpered as he moved closer, hands trembling by the time he leaned forward and gazed into the veritable abyss in front of him. What once had been an impressive fortress was now nothing more than a pile of rocks, stones, broken furniture and dead bodies. Anders spotted two bodies wearing Guards’ armor and hoped Aveline wasn’t one of them. Hastily, Anders glanced around, trying to find a way to climb down and continue his search there but it turned out futile. He wished he had asked Varric how he’d gotten out instead of snapping at the dwarf. _I owe him an apology later_ , Anders thought sadly to himself.

 

Something metallic gleamed near him and Anders reached out, brushing away ashes and stone, breath catching in his throat when the metallic item turned out to be very familiar to him. One of Fenris’ gauntlets.

 

 _He was here when.._.

 

Anders leaned over the hole and looked around frantically. “Fenris!” he shouted, fear coloring his voice. “Fenris, can you hear me?”

 

No answer.

 

“Maker, please,” Anders begged, “ _please_.” He dared to move a little closer to the edge to get a better look, feeling the ground give in slightly under his weight. “FENRIS!”

 

The ground vibrated suddenly and a moan carried across Kirkwall that had Anders’ blood run cold. He glanced across his shoulder and saw something gigantic move in the distance, fighting what looked like a magical lightning storm. _The Gallows_. The mages were fighting.

 

_Focus._

 

With a groan, Anders returned his attention to the task at hand. “Fenris, please!” he called out. “You have to answer me. Fenris?” _Please, be alive_.

 

What were the chances?

 

Anders reached for the abandoned gauntlet and pressed it against his chest with both hands. “Fenris, please…” he whispered as he cradled it, his chest tight from the sobs that refused to come.

 

_Never leave._

_Leave?_

_Me. Never leave me._

 

“I kept my promise,” Anders said brokenly. “Why didn’t you?”

 

 _Meredith_.

 

Anders felt rage rise up inside him, his eyes cold, venomous, as he once again glanced across his shoulder. _She will pay. I will make her pay_.

 

The mage exhaled shakily and glanced at the gauntlet still cradled to his chest, fingertips caressing over sharp spikes. If Fenris was gone, waiting for him in the Fade now…the elf would never forgive Anders for abandoning their friends, for not fighting by their side to end the madness that had cost Fenris his life. Anders didn’t want to face the man he loved as a traitor. He didn’t have anything to lose anymore, now – except for Fenris’ love and respect.

 

Anders took the gauntlet into his right hand, turning up the palm of the left and attached the sharp spikes to his wrist. He gave a small grunt when they cut sharply into his skin, blood, hot and pulsing, starting to pour, dripping on the ground. A moment’s concentration, a beckoning call through the Veil and Anders felt their presence immediately as they rose from the ashes.

 

He drew a shaky breath, balling his left hand into a fist, forcing more blood to pool from his wrist as he bound them to his mind and will. A sensation akin to a shiver coursed through his veins and with determination, Anders lifted his gaze to look at the Shades who awaited his order.

  
“Find Fenris,” he commanded, voice firm. “Then return and guide me to him.”

 

The Shades vanished into thin air momentarily and Anders hissed at the sharp pain coming from his bleeding wrist. Crawling across the dirty ground, he found a piece of fabric big enough to bandage the wound, albeit dirty, and got up, leaning on his staff. He couldn’t remember having felt this sick, last time he had done this, the _only_ other time he had ever done this, but Anders couldn’t find it in him to care.

 

He would _drown_ the entire city in blood if he had to.


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Lyrium Ghost wanders the undergrounds, Hawke faces Knight-Commander Meredith.

**_Fenris_.**

 

The gentle voice was like a caress against his skin, putting him at ease despite the agony his body was in. He let his head roll to the side, a weak, breathless cough escaping his dry lips. Another, then another and within minutes, his body was shaking with violent coughs, his lungs trying to clear themselves, his mouth tasting like ashes, blood and bile. Something dislodged from his airways; his body instinctively rolled to the side and he retched. Took a deep, shaky breath; another. He could breathe. He _was_ breathing.

 

**_Fenris._ **

 

He was still alive.

 

With much effort, green eyes opened and blinked at the ground. Ashes; dust; stone; wood; destruction surrounding him in the darkness. He concentrated on his shaky breaths, the sound of which finally reached his ears. In and out. In and out. _Focus on it_ , he told himself.

 

The next thing he became aware of was his heart pumping blood. Beating slower than it should, but _beating_ it was. Fenris breathed in deeply, again, again, his lungs filling with oxygen, transporting it into his blood stream and his heartbeat quickened.

 

Sensation in all his limbs told him his spine was not injured, unless he was experiencing phantom pains. He slowly glanced down at his body. Two arms, two legs. Wiggling his toes did hurt and Fenris gritted his teeth, but continued to move them, the pain giving way to a tingling sensation. He repeated the procedure with his hands, clenching and unclenching them, feeling sore muscles work under his skin.

 

“I’m alive,” he croaked into the darkness, told the soothing voice he’d heard call out for him. His entire body hurt and Fenris knew the one or other bone was broken, even if he didn’t feel it yet.

 

_Get up. You need to get up_.

 

Fenris moved, slow and controlled. He rolled onto his stomach,  panting into the dirt and coughing when it attacked his airways on inhale. One hand, palm flat on the ground. The other. Slowly, he dragged one leg up until he was half kneeling, then the second leg.

 

A shudder ran through his body and the elf choked back a shout when his spine protested; pain, white-hot, shot from neck to tailbone. His arms shook and he remained in that position for a while until the shaking subsided.

 

_Get up_. _Fenris, you need to get up._

**_You have to answer me_.**

 

That voice…

 

Fenris’ eyes widened and he gasped. “Anders?” he called weakly. Had his mage returned? Was he close?

 

“Get up, damn it,” Fenris told himself and then used whatever strength he had left and pushed himself up, to his feet, slowly straightening his body. He grunted when he finally stood upright and carefully tilted his head back to look up.

 

More darkness. Where was he?

 

Fenris remembered the explosion. It had hit him the moment he was about to exit through the Keep’s gates, throwing him back and then it was down, down, deeper until he knew no more. How long he had been lying here, Fenris couldn’t tell, but what he could tell was that he had to be close to another Deep Roads passage, judging by the foul smell that reached his nostrils.

 

Carefully, he ran both hands over his body, wincing when they stroked over his ribcage. His left wrist throbbed a moment after, as well as the back of his head and Fenris hissed, keeping his left arm against his chest and reaching up with his right to check his head for injuries. The hair on the back of his neck was caked with blood and touching that area made him nauseous. His main concern would be his broken ribs, Fenris figured. They did not appear to have pierced his lungs yet, which was a miracle in itself after the fall he must have taken. In fact, Fenris couldn’t believe his spine hadn’t simply snapped or that his neck wasn’t broken.

 

Or that his sword hadn’t sliced him in half.

 

Fenris glanced around and spotted it a few feet away from him. Dragging his feet, he walked over and slowly picked it up. There was no way he could carry it on his back, so he kept it in his right hand and dragged it through dust and ashes as he walked on. If he was indeed in the Deep Roads, or close to it, there was a way out and he would find it. Follow the foul smell to where it got stronger or find a breeze of clearer air wafting at him across the dark, either way would ensure he’d find an exit.

 

His head cleared, the further he walked, his circulatory system stabilizing. From what Fenris could _feel_ , he had no open wounds or at least none that were bleeding. He hoped it would stay that way and not change once his body left its state of shock.

 

There were more people down here with him. Fenris could spot their outlines, crushed beneath boulders, distorted. He paused when he found a familiar face and carefully knelt to put two fingers to Seneschal Bran’s throat, feeling for a pulse. The man’s middle was stuck beneath what looked like part of the Keep’s ceiling.

 

_Dead_.

 

“Cubent,” Fenris murmured. “I am sorry.” And he prayed wouldn’t find Varric in a similar state.

 

 

By the time his feet connected with more solid ground and no more corpses lined his way, Fenris was able to relax. He had not found Varric or Aveline among the dead, had stopped at every body that could have been the dwarf or the Guard Captain to check; dared to hope that Varric maybe survived, that he had not ended up down here. As for Aveline, Fenris was almost sure she had at least not been inside the Keep when it went down, unlike Varric or Fenris himself.

 

Fenris concentrated on his olfactory sense and sniffed the air. Foul, rotten, damp. The Deep Roads. He was partly relieved to have entered familiar grounds, yet the prospect of probably spending a few days down here until he found an exit was tiring. He had no food, no water and probably internal injuries he was not yet aware of. His ribcage was protesting with each breath by now and he kept his breathing as shallow as possible.

 

He also wished he had some sense of direction. What would be the safest place to go to, if he indeed managed to get out and how would he decide which of the countless tunnels to take to achieve the desired destination? The Dalish Camp on Sundermount seemed like a good option; he would find healing and help there, although he did not expect the Dalish to go to Kirkwall with him to find out how much of it had been destroyed. He did remember hearing various explosions, the first he’d heard being the reason why he had even left the viscount’s office, and Varric, to interrogate.

 

If he made it to Sundermount, up in the Vimmarks, Fenris contemplated further, and found someone to take to his injuries and supply him with food and water, he could possibly even make it to that Warden prison Anders had left for. It had been four days before Viscount’s Keep exploded right into his face, that Anders had been gone. If he added at least a day that he had been down here, it would be five. There was a good chance his mage was still in the Vimmarks and Fenris chuckled humorlessly into the silent darkness around him. However much he’d objected against the mage leaving, however much he’d told himself he could _trust_ Anders’ word that he would return to him, right now, Fenris was relieved the mage hadn’t been in Kirkwall when whatever had happened, happened. He was safer where he was now, which was ironic, come to think of it.

 

“Make a decision,” Fenris told himself. “Which way?” He looked ahead; not too far from him, the passage split into two tunnels. He had to decide which to take.

 

A sound reached his keen ears and Fenris froze. It was distant, tiny and weak. Slowly nearing the fork in the path, he tried to decide which tunnel it came from and what exactly it was. Darkspawn? Unlikely. Occasionally, Deepstalkers made similar noises or even dragonlings.

 

When he heard it again, Fenris recognized it. Small sobs. Someone was down here with him.

 

_Left_.

 

Gripping his sword tighter, Fenris followed that sound into the left of the two tunnels.

 

 

~*~

 

The Gallows were a battlefield.

 

Upon arrival, Hawke froze as he took in the situation before him – mages fighting Templars, Templars fighting mages and each other. Hawke could hardly believe his eyes as he watched Knight-Captain Cullen killing one of his own men, sorrow written across his features, in defense of a young mage girl cowering behind him on the ground.

 

In the midst was Meredith, engaged in a shouting match with Orsino and repeatedly invoking the Right of Annulment for the crimes commited to Kirkwall by the hand of mages, while Orsino argued with her to stop the madness instantly and that she had no right to invoke anything.

 

“Well, shit,” Varric commented next to Hawke.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Hawke bellowed furiously and for a moment, the battlefield came to a standstill.

 

Meredith paused and turned around to stare at Hawke. A sinister smile spread on her face. “And here we meet, Champion,” she said, “at long last.”

 

“Viscount Hawke!” Orsino greeted, relieved.

 

“He is _not_ Viscount of Kirkwall,” Meredith snapped. “His appointment was a farce by the King of Ferelden, a sympathizer of mages.”

 

“So you keep saying, yet you present no evidence,” the First Enchanter countered. “For all we know, the Viscount was appointed by the King of Ferelden on behalf of the governors of the Free Marches.”

 

“The governors had no idea the Champion of Kirkwall had been appointed viscount.” Meredith walked toward Hawke and pointed her sword at him. Hawke felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of it; glowing an unnatural red, the wild look in her eyes. “Do you honestly believe, _Champion_ , that I did not realize the games you were playing?”

 

“I was not playing any games and the arrival of King Alistair was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you,” Hawke stated.

 

“The King, a Grey Warden, already vacating Ferelden’s throne,” Meredith snarled, “trying to gain power over Kirkwall with the help of a supposed renegade Grey Warden, an apostate mage that you call friend and who had you enthralled with blood magic.”

 

Hawke looked at her in disbelief. “Even you must realize how ridiculous that just sounded.” He shook his head. “What _happened_?”

 

“Meredith obtained a powerful explosive and deposited it underground, beneath Kirkwall’s governing buildings,” Orsino claimed. “She claims it was the mages and Templars she recently found guilty of treason and terrorism and had executed _before_ she even informed you about the issue.”

 

Hawke paled.

 

“They cannot have possibly done this. Meredith seeks power over Kirkwall,” Orsino concluded, “at all costs.”

 

“Mages are nothing but depraved creatures,” Meredith hissed. “Corrupted, a danger to all that have wisely not accepted the Maker’s curse!”

 

“You can’t possibly truly believe that,” Varric barked. “Have you lost your mind, woman?”

 

“And you think,” Hawke asked, gesturing around, “that _this_ will ensure the citizens of Kirkwall to recognize _you_ as their rightful viscount? Burning their city to the ground, killing thousands of innocents?”

 

“She doesn’t care about the city or its citizens,” Orsino said. “All she cares about is seeing every mage in Thedas _dead_.”

 

“And what will you do, once you are done here? Sit on a pile of burned corpses?” Hawke asked Meredith. “There’s nothing _left_ to rule, Meredith. You destroyed everything.”

 

“Kirkwall has been rebuilt once, it can be done again.” She shook her head angrily. “Enough of this! You may be no mage, Champion, but you support them. You shall share their fate.”

  
“Knight-Commander,” Cullen spoke up from the listening crowd. “I thought you meant to _arrest_ the Champion?”

 

“You,” Meredith snarled at him. “You should finally remember your place, Knight-Captain, killing your own, instead of the true enemy within these walls! You will do as I command, Cullen!”

 

“No. I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this?” Cullen gestured around, at the dead, the wounded, the ones waiting for the fight to continue. At scared faces. “This is going too far.”

 

Meredith swung her massive sword around, pointing it at Cullen. “We must stay true to our path,” she told him. “Have you forgotten where _your_ path lies?”

 

The Knight-Commander chuckled when Hawke and Varric eyed the sword, while Cullen took a step back, despite not being within arm’s reach of it. “You recognize it, do you not?” she asked smugly. “The dwarf charged a rough deal for his prize.”

 

“You damned bitch,” Varric growled.

 

“Turning the idol into a fancy sword won’t save you,” Hawke coldly let Meredith know.

 

Something flashed in  Meredith’s eyes and she pointed the sword at her Templars. “All of you!” she shouted. “I want him dead!”

 

“Enough!” Cullen barked when several Templars took a cautious step toward Hawke and Varric. “This is _not_ what the order stands for. Knight-Commander – step down! I relieve you of your command.”

 

There was a sudden confusion among the Templars, hushed whispers shared. Even Meredith looked positively stunned as she stared, wide-eyed, at the Knight-Captain.

 

Hawke felt something poke into his back and glanced to his side to find Isabela grinning smugly at him.

 

“Where have you been?” Hawke murmured.

 

“Made Kitten lead as many refugees as she could away from the city and to Sundermount,” Isabela replied in kind. “Aveline will charge from within the Gallows. She and her Guardsmen have used the secret passage beneath, the one Anders showed us a while ago.”

 

Hawke heard Varric sigh quietly in relief. Aveline was alive then.

 

“Have you seen Anders? Or Fenris?”

  
“I thought Anders was with you?”

 

“He went to find Fenris,” Varric murmured.

 

A brief look of concern flashed across the pirate’s face. “Why, what happened to him?”

 

 

“My own Knight-Captain,” Meredith interrupted any further talk, “falls prey to the influence of blood magic?” She looked around hastily. “You’re all weak! Allowed the mages to control your minds. I don’t need _any_ of you!” She pointed the sword back at Hawke. “I will protect this city myself.”

 

“From yourself, I should hope,” Hawke countered.

 

“You will have to go through me,” Cullen called, lifting his sword as well, “and the Templars faithful to the order and its values!”

 

Meredith huffed out a laugh at that. “You’re _dead_ , boy,” she told him, “just like all of them.”

 

“She has clearly lost her mind,” Isabela remarked dryly.

 

“Time to relieve her from it, then,” Hawke decided, drawing his sword. “I’ve had enough of this madness.”

 

“Let us help you.” Cullen approached Hawke almost carefully. “I am aware the Templar order has not exactly been –“

 

“Spare me,” Hawke grunted out. “I want to fight her, so do you. Right now, that’s the only thing that matters to me. You want to redeem yourself or the honor of the Templar order? Do it, but don’t ask for my approval, Cullen.”

 

“He can ask for mine, if he wishes.”

 

Hawke sighed and turned around, a small smile on his lips when his gaze met the Warden Commander’s. Mael offered a lopsided smile of his own.

  
“This isn’t your fight,” Hawke stated gently, albeit grateful at the continued support of the elf in front of him.

 

“Maybe so,” Mael agreed. “But I happen to be allergic to people that have clearly gone mad and right now, I’m _itching_ to spill some blood.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Cubent – Rest in peace
> 
> \-------
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://lamentaslair.tumblr.com). I think I got lost there D:


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders joins his companions at the Gallows.

Anders stumbled into the quaking grounds of the Gallows and immediately had reason to duck when a stone block was thrown past him. Glancing up, he stared in disbelief at the giants, the statues that had come to life, controlled by something dark and so powerful, it shook the core of his being for a moment. Vengeance rose again, screaming in his mind, raging, demanding _blood_ and Anders staggered onward, overwhelmed by the anger inside him.

  
“Hawke!” he yelled, staff ready to strike if necessary. Too many people, dead or alive, to find his friend easily. “Hawke!”

 

Someone grabbed him and pulled him aside and Anders gasped when a rage demon tried to claw at him. He cast an ice spell on it, watching it freeze up before it shattered into tiny little pieces. Only then, he glanced up to his savior. “Izzy?”

 

“Hey there, Sparklefingers,” Isabela greeted, a mad grin on her face. “We missed you.” The grin left. “Did you find him?”

 

This time, it was Anders who had to pull Isabela out of the way, sending an attacking Templar flying with a fireball. “No,” he said. “But I made sure he will be found. Where’s Hawke?”

 

Isabela nodded her head sharply and Anders’ gaze followed the movement.

 

Hawke was facing Meredith. His eyes took in the sight of the massive sword in her hand and just like in the Deep Roads, he felt the buzzing, the sheer _evil_ of what once had been nothing more than an idol made of lyrium, a kind of lyrium neither had ever encountered before. “Maker,” he breathed out.

 

“I doubt he’d approve of this,” Isabela said humorlessly. “I know I said I’d stay out of this whole mage plight business…” She pulled Anders aside and threw a dagger at yet another charging Templar, hitting him in the throat. He went down, gurgling. “…but I feel I owe you an apology. That old hag clearly is insane.”

 

Anders gave a humorless chuckle. “Remember you said that,” he told her and pulled her close for a hug. Isabela made a disgusted sound he knew she didn’t mean seriously and punched his arm.

 

“What was that for?” she asked when Anders pulled back.

 

“Stay alive,” Anders pleaded quietly. She looked surprised at the words. “I don’t want to see my friends die because of my mistakes.”

 

“What happened here is not _your_ fault, Anders,” Isabela stated. “You may have stirred this pot more than once, but it wasn’t _you_ who blew up the entire damn city!”

 

“But it _could_ have been me.” He quickly leaned forward and kissed her cheek before he darted off, fighting his way through the crowd and toward Hawke, ignoring Isabela’s shout.

 

 

Soon, his hurried steps were accompanied by the sound of heavy boots and Anders glared upon finding Cullen at his side. One of the giants crashed down next to him and the Knight-Captain stumbled. Anders reached over and grabbed the Templar’s arm to steady him.

 

“I am sorry –“ Cullen began breathlessly.

 

“Oh _please_ ,” Anders growled in response and gave Cullen a shove before telling himself to run faster. Ahead of him, he saw Hawke fall to the ground after taking a blow from Meredith’s sword and with a yell, Anders cast Mind Blow at her, sending her flying backward and leaving her disoriented for the moment it took him to reach his best friend.

 

Hawke gave Anders a lopsided smile when the blond quickly healed him.

  
“Such a lovely sight you are,” Garrett told him.

  
“Save the flattery for later,” Anders retorted with a smirk. “We have a bitch to kill.”

 

“You!” Meredith thundered as she got back on her feet.

 

“Me!” Anders snapped back. “You didn’t honestly believe I would miss the opportunity to rip out your insides and feed them to you, did you?” He whirled his staff, eyes lighting up in a way that had Hawke frown at him. “The list of things you deserve payback for is _long_ , Knight-Commander.”

 

“Abomination,” she growled at him.

 

“Takes one to know one.” He whirled his staff again. Hawke readied himself next to him and from the corner of his eyes, Anders saw that Cullen had caught up with him after all. “This ends tonight, once and for all.”

 

“You are right about that.” Meredith swung her sword around, effortlessly, Anders noticed, despite it’s obvious weight and the monstrous size. The air vibrated between them and Anders felt a familiar pulsing in his vein.

 

_Tainted_.

 

“Sweet Maker,” he whispered. Could lyrium really be tainted?

 

Meredith chose that moment to charge and Anders found himself pushed back by Hawke, the warrior’s sword parading hers. Hawke’s sword began to glow, like the metal was heated by the lyrium sword. Again, Anders used Mind Blast to bring some distance between them and Meredith.

 

“We need to attack her from all sides,” Hawke decided, the muscles in his sword arm flexing. His gaze focused briefly to a spot behind Meredith and Anders saw Varric, Bianca ready to fire, a grim expression on his face.

 

“At once,” Anders agreed with a nod and glanced to Cullen. The Knight-Captain looked shaken.

 

Around them, mages and Templars found or covered the ground with their dead bodies. On the other end of the courtyard, Anders even believed to see a rage demon. The mages were reaching for their last resorts. They had to end this before more of them fell for the beckoning of demons.

 

They charged simultaneously. Distracted by three arrows coming at her from behind, Meredith spun around and offered her back to Hawke and Cullen, who jumped at the chance, Hawke activating his Berserk abilities. Anders cast a binding glyph to make sure Meredith would not escape, before letting fire rain on her.

 

Isabela rushed past Anders and jumped on Meredith, tackling her to the ground before freezing in the binding glyph’s magic.

  
“Maker damn it, Izzy!” Anders yelled at her and watched as she tried to fight the powers of the glyphs, to move her arms and hands so she could thrust her daggers into Meredith’s chest.

 

The lyrium sword vibrated within the glyph and next they knew, they were sent flying back, the glyph breaking in a blast.

 

Isabela landed half on top of Anders with a grunt, then smirked down at him. “Brings back memories,” she purred.

 

Anders rolled his eyes and pushed the pirate off him, just in time to dodge Meredith’s sword with the bladed end of his staff. Another vibration in the air and Anders heard a faint whispering. The sword, it was indeed singing, like Bartrand had told them.

 

_We are here_

_We have waited_

_We have slept_

_We are sundered_

_We are crippled_

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Meredith asked, almost dreamily. “The song.”

  
Anders’ arms started to hurt with the effort of keeping her at arm’s length. The wound on his wrist pulsed and he watched the dirty cloth darkening with fresh blood.

 

“Maybe the Maker will sing prettily for you, after you’ve answered for your crimes,” Anders gritted out.

 

Meredith grinned widely at him.

 

Anders’ vision turned red, eyes squeezing shut when hot blood splashed into his face. He heard her cream in agony and the force of her sword lifted off his staff. Someone pulled him back, away from the screams as he wiped his face.

 

Hawke stood above Meredith, now cowering on the ground. Her sword arm severed from her body by Hawke’s sword.

 

Her pained screams turned into angered ones and before Hawke had a chance to make the final blow, she rolled over, spilling blood across cobbled stone and grabbed the sword with her remaining arm.

  
“No!” she yelled. “I will not be defeated.”

 

Her blood came into contact with the sword as she tried to get up and failed. It shuddered and a choked sound escaped Meredith, her body shaking violently.

 

“Get away!” Hawke yelled suddenly. Strong hands grabbed Anders’ shoulder and _pulled_ , almost threw him out of the way.

 

Another blast, dark, vicious and smelling of taint, sent them across the courtyard, accompanied by Meredith’s terrifying screams. Anders yelled when his back hit the hard ground, yet he did not allow the pain to distract him. He rolled over and crawled further away, focused on Hawke’s body not too far from where he had landed.

 

“Garrett!” he hissed and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Hawke groaned and squeezed back before pulling Anders close.

 

Then it stopped and Anders allowed himself to breathe. Terrified gasps and screams filled the courtyard and he heard Cullen say a prayer. Hawke and Anders slowly sat up, their eyes widening at the display before them.

 

“Maker,” Hawke breathed out.

 

In the middle of the courtyard knelt Meredith, or what was left of her. Petrified in red lyrium, she was gazing at the smoke-filled sky with empty eye-sockets, mouth wide open in a silent scream. It was quiet around them now and the last giant statue crashed to the ground, making the ground shake beneath them.

 

Varric was the first to recover and he slowly approached Meredith, a scrutinizing look on his face.

 

“Maker, Varric, stay away from her!” Hawke called out.

 

“She’s dead,” Varric answered calmly.

 

“Clear the courtyard,” Cullen suddenly barked and gestured at the remaining Templars. “Lead the survivors to the city gates and wait there for me. Stay away from Stannard!”

 

“What about the mages?” someone asked.

 

“I just told you,” Cullen replied calmly. “Lead the _survivors_ to the city gates.”

 

 

The Gallow’s gates opened and the Guardsmen rushed into the courtyard.

 

“Thank the Maker!” Hawke exclaimed happily next to Anders.

  
“Look, it’s Lady Man-Hands,” Isabela said with a chuckle. “She sure took her sweet time.”

 

“Knight-Captain!” Aveline sure enough addressed Cullen immediately as she approached.

 

“Guard Captain,” Cullen acknowledged with a nod of his head. “Will your men assist mine in leading away the survivors and taking them to the city gates?”

 

“They will.” Aveline lifted a hand and gestured at her men, who instantly went to work. “The Gallows were ridden with abominations,” she said then. “Sadly, we have lost many. One of them was Orsino. He was attempting to save a group of children from a Templar and saw no other way.”

 

Anders closed his eyes upon hearing that. The First Enchanter, of all people, losing himself to a demon. A powerful mage, who would not have needed to do so.

 

“It saddens me deeply to hear that,” Cullen said sincerely. “I was wondering where he took off to, after Meredith decided to challenge the Champion.”

 

“It saddens me as well that it had to come to this,” Aveline replied sourly. “The entire city lies in ruins. Many have died. How could this have happened?”

 

“It’s my fault,” Anders whispered. A strong hand grasped his shoulder and when he opened his eyes, he found Hawke looking at him.

 

“It’s not,” Hawke said. “You didn’t do any of this.”

 

Another hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look up, this time into Mael’s face. Anders stared at his Commander, wide-eyed and unbelieving that Mael was _still_ here.

 

“Keep your mouth shut, Anders,” Mael warned quietly. “This once, just _shut_ up.”

 

 

~*~

 

“There’s no need for anyone to know where the explosive originally came from.”

 

Anders, Aveline, Hawke, Isabela and Varric followed behind the crowd being led outside the city in a safe distance, their group led by Mael.

 

“It certainly won’t change a thing about what happened,” Aveline muttered in agreement. “What sickens me is the knowledge that this _could_ all have been Anders’ doing if he were still possessed by Justice.”

 

“I wouldn’t have blown up the entire damn city,” Anders argued quietly. “Especially not while all of you are still in here.”

 

“ _You_ wouldn’t have done it at all,” Varric pointed out. “Justice, on the other hand…”

 

Anders shook his head. “Why are you still here?” he asked Mael. “Where’s Zevran?”

 

“I left Zevran with the people outside the city’s walls for protection before following you,” Mael explained. “When I couldn’t find you, I simply followed the sound of terrified screams.” He turned and looked at the tired band of friends. “I am sorry I got separated from you all during the fight. Demons and shades were suddenly all over the damn place, with the mages losing any control over them and most of the Templars had never seen one until today.”

 

“Too much going on for me to notice your absence,” Hawke murmured. “I should apologize.”

 

“You should have been in Denerim, when it was overrun by Darkspawn and with the Archdemon towering above all.” Mael offered a lopsided smile. “That was real chaos.”

 

“Worse than Amaranthine?” Anders asked.

 

“Much worse.”

 

“Now what?” Isabela spoke up. “You take the people outside, then what? Where will you lead them?”

 

“I would suggest searching the city,” Aveline said. “See if it is safe now, free of misled Templars, abominations and whatever else we faced today. We will pick the strongest men and have them start extinguishing the fires as far as they can.”

 

“And find a safe place within the city big enough to shelter them for the night,” Hawke said with a nod. “I don’t know how far the destruction of the city went. Most of Lowtown or even Darktown might still be intact.”

 

“We could check on my clinic,” Anders offered. “See if it’s still there. It offers enough space for us, and cots to sleep on tonight. Maker knows we need to rest.” He stopped walking, causing Hawke to bump into him. “I will see to it,” Anders decided. “See if it’s still there and prepare it for the night.”

 

“Anders…” Hawke shook his head. “No one goes off alone.”

 

“Did you manage to find anything?” Varric spoke up. He sounded gentle. “Any trace of Fenris?”

 

The rest of the group slowed to a halt as well and Anders could feel their eyes on him. “Yes,” he murmured. “He was still at the Keep when it collapsed.”

 

Varric turned away with a pained expression.

 

“I’m looking for him as we speak,” Anders added. “It just…it takes time. But I will find him.”

 

“Looking for him?” Hawke lifted an eyebrow. “How? Did you ask a Fade spirit to assist you?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Anders said with a shake of his head.

 

A strong hand grabbed his cut wrist suddenly and Anders hissed when his arm was forced up. He could feel blood soak through the cloth, against fingertips and his eyes were desperate when he met Mael’s angry ones.

  
“You blighted _fool_ ,” Mael hissed.

 

 

~*~

 

Fenris couldn’t tell how long he’d been walking. Minutes, hours, days? There was no concept of time in the Deep Roads, no daylight to orient oneself, no sounds. When he’d first been to the Deep Roads, by Hawke’s side to pay off his debts to the man, Fenris had been shocked to learn they had been gone for weeks, by the time they had found the way back to Kirkwall when it had only felt like a few days. They had only ever stopped to sleep when exhaustion got the better of them, which meant that occasionally, they had been marching straight for days, their body rhythm thrown off completely. Fenris wasn’t even sure how long he’d slept after literally crawling into his borrowed mansion, barely able to hold himself upright anymore. All he knew was that one morning, he had woken up and Hawke had been there, with Fenris’ very generous share of coin, a bottle of decent wine and something to eat. He had sat on the bed, by Fenris’ feet, handing him a glass and food as they talked.

 

The first real conversation in which he had been treated like an equal. Hawke had asked all kinds of questions, showed interest in him. Fenris drank, ate and eventually dozed off again, his body recovering. The next time he’d woken, Hawke was still there and Anders was with him, both men looking every bit as tired as Fenris felt and Hawke asking him to please let Anders have a look at him, to make sure he was healthy. Losing his brother in the Deep Roads to the blight sickness had cost Hawke many a nights’ sleep and him worried for his companions, with the exception of Anders, who jokingly stated he was already as tainted as they came.

 

The first time Fenris had had to give his consent for a _mage_ to check on him.  He had been surprised to find that the pleasant sensation he’d often felt during fights had come from the mage the entire time, keeping the group alive and healed, including Fenris, who had not given the Spirit Healer any reason to include him in this. Later, Fenris would be amused about how Anders had obviously seized the moments in which Fenris was distracted with slaying creatures to cast magic on him without the elf actually taking notice of it. He’d been angry with himself that the fact that Anders had thought of him as well, had protected him with his magic, made his heart beat faster with something he believed was _joy_.

 

Not unlike the feeling inside his chest right now, as Fenris thought of the mage; except this time, it was _yearning_. His body was tiring and Fenris had long stopped believing that broken ribs and possibly a broken wrist, too, were his only concerns. Something didn’t feel right inside his body and the endlessness of the path stretched out before him didn’t help. Alone with his thoughts, following a sound that kept distancing itself from him each time he believed he had reached the source. Sometimes, Fenris believed to hear the sound of naked feet hurrying away from him. The creatures inhabiting the Deep Roads did _not_ flee at the prospect of having ‘dinner’.

 

Fenris lifted his injured hand to the back of his head. Fresh blood was gluing strands of white hair together and he wondered if maybe he was hallucinating due to a severe head injury. Yet he allowed himself to be lured deeper into the endless darkness, beckoned down the wrong path that would lead to his death.

 

His right arm was heavy after dragging the sword all the way and his body felt ready to collapse. And oh, Fenris wanted to…just let himself fall to the ground, close his eyes and sleep, but the elf worried he wouldn’t wake up again if he did so.

 

As much as Fenris was ready to succumb to the tiredness of his body – he was not ready to die. Not yet. Not now. Not without seeing Anders one last time.

 

Ever since he’d fled from Danarius, hate had been what had driven him on. For years, he had refused to die before he had the chance to end Danarius’ existence, to take revenge for the pain, physically and mentally, that Fenris had suffered at his former master’s hands. No matter how badly wounded he had been during the numerous fights he’d followed Hawke into while he had patiently waited for Danarius to come and get him, no matter how close to death he had often found himself, Fenris always got back to his feet again, enduring the pain because he hadn’t achieved his goal yet.

 

Hate was consuming, very much so.

 

_Love_ , Fenris had learned by now, could overcome hate. Now it was time love proved to overcome death as well, because Fenris had no intention of stopping until he saw Anders’ face; could speak to him one last time, kiss those desirable lips and tell the mage he loved him and hear it reciprocated. When he could let the mage hold him close as he healed him, because he knew Anders would and _could_ , if Fenris made it in time, even if it killed the man trying to save him. That was one of the first things Fenris had learned about the Spirit Healer; one of the main reasons he loved that beautiful fool.

 

_I will come back_. _I am not leaving you behind._

 

Fenris stumbled and saved himself from falling by dropping his sword and bracing that arm against the wall, clawing into the porous rock. The movement strained his chest and a ragged breath escaped his lips at the stabbing pain that followed.

 

_I don’t want to hold your hand and watch as it slowly kills you._

 

In and out. Slowly. Keep your breathing shallow.

 

The pain subsided and breathing became easier again. Fenris almost sobbed in relief and carefully turned his body to he could lean against the wall, allowing himself a moment’s break. His throat was dry and he found himself desperately wishing for cold, clean water.

 

Fenris’ ears caught a sound and he stilled, focusing his senses and his mind.

 

Despite the soreness of his body and the pain he expected it would cause, he activated his brands, teeth gritting as the dark tunnel was illuminated by blue Fade light. He heard a small gasp and from the corners of his eyes, he caught a quick movement; a tiny figure withdrawing further into the shadows and it did not look like Darkspawn.

 

“Come out,” Fenris growled.

 

It took a moment but then there was movement again. Tiny feet shuffling across cold stone. A small sob.

 

Fenris’ eyes widened in surprise when a tiny head poked out from behind a large rock, pale green eyes looking up fearfully, framed by dirty blond hair.

 

It was a child.


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deep Roads, Fenris - and a tiny girl.

Fenris had hoped his eyes were tricking him, expected the tiny creature to turn out to be a demon in disguise. But what came out from behind that rock was indeed a tiny girl. The plain grey robe she wore was torn and dirty, caked with blood in some places. She was barefooted, her small feet covered in scratches and burn marks, her face and hair dirty from ashes and dust, and her blond hair looked like it had been singed a little.

 

“How did you get down here?” Fenris asked, astounded. Her gaze lifted to his, green eyes meeting green eyes and Fenris frowned. She seemed impassive. He would have expected a child to be scared, cowering in a corner, crying for their mother…

 

A cold feeling washed over Fenris suddenly and he staggered backwards, exhaling shakily when his back connected with the hard, cold wall. Whatever strength he’d been able to gather when he’d gotten on his way, hours ago, left Fenris in a rush, his knees shaking with the effort to keep him up, his sword dropping to the ground.

 

A tired smile pulled at his lips and Fenris let his head fall back as his eyes slipped closed, not fighting it this time. “It would seem my injuries are more severe than I had anticipated,” he murmured. “Seeing little girls in the Deep Roads cannot be a sign of good fortune.”

 

And then he was slowly sliding to the ground, his legs giving in. Fenris let himself sink down, the coldness inside him intensifying, not only eliminating any awareness of his body, but taking away fear and worries, his mind blessedly blank. He wondered if that was what Anders had felt, this peacefulness, if dying had also stopped scaring the mage the moment it finally happened.

 

Fenris hoped he’d find Anders in the Fade.

 

_Just one more time_.

 

“I’m sorry,” were the last words that left his mouth as he let darkness take him.

 

 

~*~

 

_“Kirkwall is not what I had ex…expeee –“_

_“Expected.”_

_The frown on his face was soothed away by gentle fingers playing with his hair, fingertips caressing briefly over the outer shell of one pointed ear, which flicked slightly at the contact._

_“Expected,” Fenris repeated, eyes focused on the hastily scribbled word as he tried to memorize that particular apposition of letters. “They call it the city of chaa—chains, I call it a rat hole.” Fenris chuckled and tilted his head back a fraction so he could look up at  Anders from where his head was resting comfortably on the mage’s chest._

_Anders smiled in response, a smile that Fenris knew was reserved for him: warm and gentle, reflecting what the mage felt for him; sated, because they had made love before settling down; sleepy, because Anders was tired, but unable to sleep just yet, so he had suggested Fenris practiced his reading. “Go on,” Anders murmured._

_Fenris focused on the small book in his hands again. A precious gift, one of many Anders had trusted him with those past weeks. “Hightown’s app…apper…”_

_“Appearance.”_

_The elf made a face. “…appearance belies the situation of the arrows…no…areeee…areas bene—beneath. Loff…” Fenris scowled. “Lowtown,” he corrected himself, once his memory provided him with the correct word, “and Darktown are in dire streets…no…”_

_“Straits,” Anders supplied. Calm, gentle – patient. “In need.”_

_Fenris sighed deeply and considered giving up, again._

_“Fenris, you are doing very good,” Anders told him. “Better than I had anticipated, after you told Hawke to go to the Void trying to teach you. You only need practice.”_

_“And you are sure you want me to practice with your diary?”_

_“I can get something else if you want?”_

_Again, Fenris scowled. Anders took the diary and the elf watched him flip through the pages, eyes scanning the pages quickly. He was looking for something specific. Finally, Anders paused, reading for a moment before handing the diary back to Fenris._

_Fenris eyed the letters, not as hastily scribbled this time. Anders had taken his time with this particular entry, he noticed. Another deep sigh and the elf told himself to concentrate._

_“Fenris came to my clinic last night,” he read aloud, then paused. “Mage?”_

_“Go on,” the blond encouraged._

_“Fenris came to my clinic last night. I can still not com…compe…”_

_“Com-pre-hend,” Anders said, pointing a fingertip at each letter for Fenris’ eyes to follow and – hopefully – memorize._

_“I can still not comprehend what happened,” Fenris continued, “to…no, though my body still remembers every tou—touch. He took me to…he took me to bed.” Again, he paused. “Is this about --?”_

_“The night you came to my clinic after I used a spell to relieve you of the pain,” Anders confirmed. He sounded a little uncertain to Fenris’ ears._

_It was enough for Fenris to try in earnest to read and learn the words before him. “I have almost forgotten what it feels like,” he read on, filled with a sudden confidence, “to be touch…touched by another. I have not dared hope it would ever happen again. It made me aware how lon—lonely I am and what I need more than my free….freedom.”_

_Fenris stopped there, his head rolling to the side until he felt his cheek come to rest against Anders’ warm skin. Anders reached out and turned the diary onto the next page. It was empty, save for a very short entry; the following page was empty as well and Fenris realized Anders must have stopped writing down his thoughts then._

_“I know it is not Fenris’ int…intention,” Fenris read the last entry aloud, “but I do not feel lonely any longer. Not after last night.”_

_“Well done,” Anders murmured, his voice sounding strangely subdued. “Shall we stop for tonight? You should practice your letters tomorrow.”_

_Fenris carefully closed the diary. “What was the last entry about?” he asked._

_“I wondered the same when I read it,” Anders admitted. “I believe I wrote that down after the last time you came to see me in my clinic.” Fenris glanced up, taking notice of the half-smile on the mage’s lips. “You stopped seeing me afterwards.”_

_“Is that why you stopped writing entries?”_

_“I remember thinking that it had been a mistake, putting my feelings into words. I had refrained from doing so in all those months we met up for our trysts.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Words are powerful, Fenris. Especially the written word. Call it superstition, but I was afraid if I wrote down everything I thought about or felt for you, I would lose it.”_

_“And then you did eventually write it down –“_

_“—and I lost it.” Anders shrugged. “Superstition, as I said. I could not know what was going on in your head at the time.”_

_Fenris put the diary on the bedside table, still careful, like it was made of glass, then moved to lie down next to the mage. “I’m sorry,” he said._

_“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Anders replied with a smile. “We managed, in the end, didn’t we? We’re here.”_

_Fenris hummed in agreement and moved closer, his head coming to rest on the mage’s chest once again. Long arms wrapped around him, held him close and the elf allowed himself to enjoy the safety, the warmth of the embrace; to be held like he was delicate._

_“I shall not make such a mistake again,” he promised._

_Something cool touched his forehead and Fenris closed his eyes at the comforting feeling. Contentment settled in, seducing him to let himself fall, because he was safe with the mage, safe in their embrace._

_  
“What was it you realized?” Fenris murmured, the first tendrils of sleep tugging on his consciousness. “What is it that you need more than your freedom?”_

_“Love,” Anders whispered in response. “You,” he added gently just as sleep took Fenris._

 

~*~

 

Something tiny and cool smoothed over his left eye and Fenris felt his cheek twitch, eyelashes fluttering. Air rushed into his lungs suddenly and his mouth opened wide for a pained gasp. His body went rigid beneath a light weight on his chest and he coughed. His hands shot up, finding something warm and solid and held on.

 

A scared-sounding whimper had Fenris open his eyes and he found himself staring right into tear-filled green orbs, regarding him fearfully. Her tiny hands rested against his face and Fenris frowned.

 

Slowly, he released his hold on the little girl and let his arms drop to the ground, keeping perfectly still beneath the scared, tiny creature sitting on his chest. For a couple long moments, they just looked at each other. Fenris felt his heartbeat pick up pace, pumping blood through his body. His skin warmed and tingled and he breathed in deeply, watching the girl on top of him rise and fall. His chest didn’t hurt, Fenris noticed, despite the added weight on his broken ribs. In fact, he felt no pain at all.

 

The little girl watched him, slowly relaxing when Fenris made no further moves. He could see tear tracks on her dirty face and wondered what had scared her more, him falling to the ground or surprising her by waking up a moment ago. Her tiny hands were trembling against his cheeks.

 

“Better.”

 

Fenris stilled, eyeing her curiously. Her voice sounded just as tiny and fragile as she looked.

 

“Better?” he questioned, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice.

 

Ever so slowly, the little girl removed her hands from his cheeks and sat up straight, but made no move to get off him. “No hurts?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

 

“I – no, I’m not hurting.” She frowned at him and Fenris figured that hadn’t been the question.

 

“No hurts.”

 

_Ah_. Carefully, as not to startle her, Fenris lifted his hands again, this time almost up to his head, palms on display in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured and watched her extend a tiny finger to trace the lyrium lines in his right palm, a curious expression on her face now.

 

Fenris seized the opportunity to take in her sight once again and noticed her rather specific clothing. The plain, grey robe. Probably something she wore for sleep, the elf thought. Now that she was up close, he saw the embroidery on the collar of the robe, recognizing it immediately. She was wearing a Circle robe.

 

“You were in the Circle,” Fenris murmured and the little girl pulled away from his hand. “How did you…how did you get down here?”

 

The little girl bit into her bottom lip, hands wringing together nervously.

 

“The explosion?” he tried.

 

A small nod.

 

“Me too.” Fenris offered a small smile and hoped his face didn’t look too terrible so he wouldn’t scare her away. “Are you all alone?”

 

“The monster mades it go boom,” she whispered. Her voice… Fenris couldn’t help but smile even more at the sound.

 

“There was a monster?”

 

She nodded again.

 

“Did the monster make everything go boom?”

 

A shrug.

 

Fenris dared to stretch his still sore legs as his hands slowly came to rest on tiny knees on either side of his chest. Only now did he become aware that he had been breathing deeply and regularly without being in agony, the pressure of tiny legs against his rib cage comforting instead of painful. He moved his left wrist experimentally and found it was free of pain as well.

 

“What did you do to me?” he asked, amazed.

 

She shook her head, a small pout on her lips. “Auntie dids.”

 

“Your…aunt?” Fenris glanced around. “There’s someone else down here?”

 

“No one can sees Auntie buts me.” The pout increased. “Auntie likes to helps.”

 

“Does she now?” He slowly sat up, pleased that it didn’t startle the girl. While sore, his ribs did not cause any severe pain and slowly, it dawned on Fenris, eyes widening. “You healed me?”

 

The cool sensation, taking the pain away and comforting him. How had he not seen it right away? A little girl in a Circle robe…

 

“You’re very young to have already awakened,” Fenris murmured. “Your _Auntie_ …is her name Compassion?”

 

The pout melted into a brilliant, adorable smile, her features lighting up. “You knows Auntie!” she exclaimed happily. “She saids you woulds!”

 

Fenris frowned. “I do not know your Auntie personally, but I know _someone_ who has an Auntie, too.”

 

The little girl climbed off him, allowing Fenris to sit up fully, relaxing his sore muscles. One hand lifted to the back of his head. He could still feel the wound, but it had closed enough to stop bleeding. He let his brands light up, bringing more light into the darkness and looked around. “Did you walk all the way up here alone? From the Circle that went boom?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The Gallows were near the gates of Kirkwall, Fenris pondered. Probably the safest if not quickest way to get out of the city, remaining underground until they reached it.

 

“Do you remember the way you came from?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Can you show me?”

 

She shook her head and shuffled away from him a little, eyes wide and fearful once again.

 

“Calm yourself,” Fenris told her. “I cannot remain here and neither can you. Terrible creatures live in those tunnels.”

 

That spooked her, visibly. She looked around hastily, then back to Fenris, eyes even wider.

 

“If we can make it back to where you came from, we can get away from here and to a safe place,” he continued to explain. “My friends are out there. Do you know about the Champion of Kirkwall?”

 

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Uncle Orsino spokes of hims. Said he is nice.”

 

“Hawke is very nice,” Fenris assured. “And one of my best friends. We’ll find him together, alright?”

 

At that, the little girl brightened up and Fenris thought, in that very moment, that she looked exactly like Anders. He felt his heart skip a beat. “I cans come with yous?” she asked.

 

“Did you really think I’d leave you here?” Fenris admonished gently. “I need a guide, young lady. And I bet the Champion will adore you.”

 

She beamed and walked over to him. With a grunt, Fenris reached for his sword and staggered back to his feet before glancing down at the girl looking up expectantly. Pointed ears poked out from matted blond hair and he flicked a fingertip against one pointy end fondly. “An elf, like me,” he murmured.

 

“I don’t glows,” she pointed out. “Why you glows?”

 

Fenris chuckled. “I’m a special elf.”

 

“Are you magicals?”

 

“Something like that.” He carefully extended his left hand. “My name is Fenris,” he introduced himself. Her tiny hand lifted and carefully took his.

 

 She bit her lip again and looked up to him, green eyes big and curious. “Lianni,” she whispered.

 

“Is that your name?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

He smiled. “Placuit occurrit tu, Lianni.”

 

She blinked. “Did you just casts a spells?”

 

Fenris chuckled. “No, that was Tevene. I was telling you I am pleased to meet you.”

 

“What is Tevenes?”

 

“It’s the language of the land I come from.”

 

She was beaming again. “It’s pretty.”

 

 

Fenris smiled in return and the tiredness he’d felt the past few hours vanished into nothingness, just looking into that adorable little face and the small hand in his. He had absolutely no experience with children and a child had been the last thing he’d expected to find in the Deep Roads, yet looking at the little elven girl named Lianni was lifting his spirits so easily.

 

“Let’s go, Lianni.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Placuit occurrit tu – Pleased to meet you


	5. FIVE

Isabela reached out and carefully pushed the door open. It creaked as it swung open, allowing a look inside.

 

The Hanged Man had been left in a hurry. The tables were piled with glasses in various states of depletion, some guests had even left behind personal belongings like hats, coats or their purses. She saw feet peeking out from under one table and tiptoed into the tavern, drawing her daggers as she snuck up on the suspicious feet.

 

She found a young man with a knife in his throat and sighed as she lowered her own weapons. “Tavern is clear!” she shouted.

 

Anders was the first to step inside, or rather, he was shoved inside by one angry Hero of Ferelden. Hawke and Varric followed suit, pushing past the two men and hurrying upstairs to check the bedrooms and Varric’s suite.

 

Isabela watched Anders stalk away from Mael as soon as the Warden Commander turned around to close the door firmly, retreating to one of the far corners of the Hanged Man. Mael moved one table to the front door and blocked it from the inside to keep out intruders.

 

They had meant to seek shelter in Anders’ clinic in Darktown, further away from death and destruction right above their heads. There had been no expectations to find Lowtown still intact in any form and so it had been a surprise to find the Hanged Man still standing. It had been Anders who suggested to check if it was safe for at least the night; unlike his clinic, the tavern offered food, drink, actual beds and plumbing.

 

Isabela peeked behind the bar and grabbed the first bottle she could find. “Anyone else need a drink?” she asked loudly as the uncorked it and took a long sip.

 

“I think we all do,” Mael muttered as he checked the small windows, making sure the shutters offered enough protection from prying eyes.

 

Varric and Hawke returned from upstairs, relief and exhaustion written across their features. “Clear,” Varric announced. “I can’t believe we are actually that lucky.” He shook his head.

 

“You did say once the Hanged Man is indestructible,” Hawke pointed out with a crooked smile. “It would be the last place standing if Kirkwall ever went down.”

 

“I had no idea how _right_ I would be about it, except it’s technically not the last place standing.” Varric glanced around. “I had expected Lowtown to be worse off.”

 

“I would not be surprised if Darktown is crowded right now,” Isabela murmured, making a face at the cheap wine she had found. It burned in her throat. “I am sure most had the idea to retreat as far down as possible.”

 

“The Hanged Man is certainly a good alternative to the clinic,” Hawke said with a nod. “No offense, Anders.”

 

He received no answer from the mage.

 

 

Varric and Hawke went to work, lighting the fireside and candles while Isabela raided the place’s larder for something edible. Mael took care of the dead young man under the table, positioning him next to the entrance and covering him with a worn blanket he found upstairs.

 

Once everything was set up for the night, Varric grabbed a mug, filled it with water and sat down at the table Anders had occupied. “Drink something, Blondie,” he told the mage and pushed the mug across the table. “You must be thirsty.”

 

“I sure am!” Hawke let himself fall into the chair next to Anders and stretched out his long legs. Anders gifted them both with a quick glance, then eyed the mug.

 

Hawke extended a hand, offering it to Anders. “Let me see that,” he said gently.

 

“It’s just a cut, Hawke.” The first words from Anders since Mael had confronted him about it.

 

“A nasty one, from what I could see. Why don’t you heal it?”

 

“I can’t, just yet.”

 

Varric sighed deeply. “So you really did it? I was hoping the Warden Commander was just blowing things out of proportion.” Behind him, Mael huffed.

 

Hawke moved quickly and snatched Anders’ injured wrist. The mage hissed, body twisting to free himself, but Hawke would have none of it. He forced the arm down on the table, where two candles shed enough light to have a look at the damage. Hawke made a face at the dirty cloth covering it.

 

“You will heal this now,” Mael’s commanding voice spoke up.

 

“I will not,” Anders answered stubbornly.

 

“I am not asking.”

 

Furious amber eyes glanced up. “And you will not tell me what to do,” Anders countered coldly. “The wound will stay for as long as I deem necessary.”

 

“You used to condemn blood magic,” Hawke pointed out. “Blood mages, in general.”

 

“I still do.”

 

“Now you’re being a hypocrite, Blondie,” Varric pointed out soberly.

 

“I am _not_ a blood mage,” Anders snapped, his fist connecting with the table hard enough to make Hawke jump. “I used blood magic, a single, _Maker_ be damned spell, yes, but that doesn’t make me a blighted blood mage. I do not indulge in it. I don’t have any interest in it, either. I don’t even know what else can be done with blood magic, aside from what I _did_ do and the things I had the displeasure of seeing throughout the past years.”

 

“And what _did_ you do?” Varric barked at the blond.

 

“Thank you for _asking_ , Varric,” Anders sneered. “What I did was summon a pair of shades and bind them to my will. I had to make a decision: abandon the lot of you and possibly take responsibility for your deaths, if I had the powers to avoid them, and finding Fenris, which was my main priority.” He exhaled shakily and sunk into his seat again. “Except if I had abandoned you, I would have had no idea how to explain that to Fenris. I commanded the shades to find him while I went to the Gallows to fight with you. They can move much faster than either of us.”

 

The dwarf sighed loudly and leaned back, his features softening.

 

Hawke carefully ran a thumb over the clothed wound on the mage’s wrist. “So, while the spell is active…”

 

“…I cannot tend to the wound, yes, because it requires my blood. I’d lose my connection to them and Maker knows what happens if they find themselves free in our world. Shades get confused when they are not in the Fade, it’s why they get angry and attack. They are not malevolent by nature,” Anders explained gently. “I could have done this calling for them through the same connection I use to the Fade spirits that help me heal others, but it takes longer and the binding might not be strong enough.”

 

“You’ve done this before.”

 

Anders glanced up and met Mael’s venomous stare with one of his own. “Once,” he admitted. “Years ago. And don’t you even dare admonish me about it, Mael. You don’t honestly believe that what Morrigan did was _not_ blood magic.”

 

The Warden Commander’s jaw set and Hawke watched him take a deep, calming breath.

 

“You always prided yourself in steering away from demons,” Varric said.

 

“I didn’t learn this –“ Anders lifted his left hand “—from a demon, Varric. Mael found a book while we were on a search for a Warden named Kristoff in Amaranthine. He gave it to me, despite the fact that it dealt with blood magic, as it had a few very good chapters about anatomy that would enable me to heal better, to heal even the worst wounds. One chapter described the writer’s way of summoning shades to fight off enemies while he healed his men.” He finally reached for the mug and took a long sip of cool water. “I’m not Merrill, for Maker’s sake,” he muttered then. “She learns from _demons_ while in the Fade. She even seems…unaffected whenever she uses blood magic. In my case, it makes me sick and it actually _hurts_ and I’d sooner than later heal that cut on my wrist, but I won’t. Not until they found Fenris.”

 

A leather bag was dropped in the middle of the table. Three pairs of eyes glanced up to Isabela’s slightly annoyed face. “I don’t care,” she grunted out, “but dress it up with something clean, Sparklefingers. I hate the smell of festering wounds.”

 

While Anders bandaged his wrist, Isabela and Hawke took care of their ‘dinner’. The pirate had found bread and cheese in the larder, a pot of stew had been left behind in the kitchen, cooking quietly over a dying flame.

 

The dark smoke hanging above Kirkwall made it impossible to tell what time of the day it was. Anders knew they had returned to the city by nightfall, but he could not say how many hours had passed since. If he had to guess, he’d say it was probably early morning, maybe even early noon. His body had still not adjusted after spending days in the Deep Roads, where time did not exist.

 

While they ate, Varric informed them about everything that had been going on during their absence. As promised, he had spoken to the Grand Cleric on behalf of the mages and Templars found guilty for conspiracy, first thing after saying goodbye to Hawke. Surprisingly, she had been open for discussions, as Cullen had spoken to her beforehand and voiced his worries over the situation at the Circle, Meredith’s recklessness and his objections to having the conspirators publicly executed. Elthina had even admitted that maybe, she had been avoiding dealing with the problems for too long.

 

Not seeing Meredith around much had raised Varric’s suspicions, though. “I would have thought she’d use the opportunity to show Kirkwall how unreliable their new viscount is, never found in the Keep,” Varric said with a smirk. “Instead, she actually delivered any information Bran requested without arguing.”

 

“Because she already had a plan,” Anders murmured.

 

“Yes. Bran told me she had been overheard ordering Templars to make deliveries to specific places across Kirkwall. When the whole blighted city blew up, I put one and one together.”

 

“We shouldn’t have left,” Hawke said with remorse.

  
“You’d probably all be dead now if you hadn’t,” Mael pointed out. “And no one would have been there to stop Meredith, at least, not in time.”

 

“Sometimes, being with someone you care about in such a moment is more important,” Anders whispered. “It can’t hurt when you’re dead.”

 

They were silent for a few long moments. Eventually, Hawke spoke up again and told Varric everything about their trip to the Grey Warden prison. By the time he finished, the remains of their meal were long forgotten and Varric had visibly paled.

 

“I always wondered,” Varric said, “what else there is to find, further down in the Deep Roads. All evil in the world seems to stem from there. Red lyrium idols, locked-up Darkspawn…”

 

“Ghouls, golems, powerful anvils,” Mael supplied tiredly.

 

“Deepstalkers, genlock, hurlock, deceased Grey Wardens that went in after receiving their Calling, way too much lyrium, members of missing expeditions,” Anders added. “Why has no one ever thought about closing those tunnels down for good?”

 

“Because lyrium is a desired good and a lot of dwarven merchants and dealers make good coin off it,” Varric grunted out. “Imagine mages had no access to it anymore. As much trouble as it causes, it’s also needed for a lot of good things. Not every mage is a walking, talking pool of Fade power like you, Blondie.”

 

“I never used to be,” the blond pointed out.

  
“And, what did you knock back repeatedly, healing us or the people coming to your clinic?”

 

“I am not concerned about the lyrium, even if you find it aplenty in the Deep Roads,” the mage pointed out. “I’m worried about its inhabitants.”

 

“Well, now that story time is over…” Isabela placed another bottle of cheap wine on the table. She was usually more pleasant when she was drunk, Anders thought, but not today. “What is your plan? Sit it out in the Hanged Man?”

 

“Restore order in Kirkwall,” Hawke murmured.

 

“Spoken like a true viscount,” Mael said humorlessly and Anders snorted.

 

“Viscount or not, this city has become my home,” Hawke replied. “And home to my friends. I am still missing three of my servants and my dog. I have no illusions about the state of my home.”

 

“Probably burned down, like mine,” Anders muttered. “The mansion was alight by the time I reached it and your estate was not far. Hightown was…”

 

“I saw.” Hawke made a face. “And I find it hard to have hope Orana, Bodahn or Sandal weren’t at the estate or the Keep when everything went to the Void.”

 

“I’m sorry,” the mage murmured.

 

“Do you have hope Fenris is still alive, Blondie?” Varric asked quietly.

 

“Hope is all I have right now.” A bitter smile formed on Anders’ lips. “I used to have none. I am trying to remain objective but it’s difficult. The Keep was gone…it’s nothing but one gaping hole and knowing he went down with it…” He shook his head. “It’s not fair.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Hawke agreed and wrapped an arm around the mage’s shoulders. “But we’re of no use or help to anyone if we work ourselves to exhaustion. We will sleep tonight, get as much rest as we can and in a few hours, we will assist Aveline and Cullen. I am certain we will find Fenris as we clear up the mess Meredith left us with.” He pulled Anders close and squeezed him. “Alive,” he promised.

 

Anders let his head fall against Hawke’s shoulder, his right hand fiddling with the bandage on his left wrist. He could feel the shades, still bound to him by the blood magic spell. Much like the taint, they whispered to him, in words he could not understand. How far away had the events taken Fenris, that they had not yet found him?

 

“I will go to the docks later,” Mael said. “I am sure the one or other ship will leave Kirkwall, and bring news to the rest of the Free Marches. I will see that a message is delivered to Alistair. Kirkwall has offered shelter to many Fereldans, I am sure he’ll be eager to return the favor.”

 

“You should return to Denerim and deliver the message yourself,” Anders suggested. “Kirkwall is not your responsibility.”

 

The Warden Commander lifted one elegant eyebrow at him.

 

“The Wardens do not meddle,” Anders reminded. “We fight Darkspawn and clean up after them. Kirkwall is not Amaranthine, it was not overrun by Darkspawn, but a crazed Knight-Commander and her Templars. Your duties lie elsewhere and you are expected home, too.”

 

“Kirkwall will be grateful for any help Denerim offers, though,” Hawke added. “But Anders is right. You were under no obligation to stay and fight Meredith with us, but I am truly grateful you did. We needed every experienced fighter available and you probably saved many lives today.”

 

“As a Grey Warden, I was indeed under no obligation to stay and still am not,” Mael agreed. His mouth twitched into a smile. “But it is only thanks to a certain Spirit Healer that I am able to return home, else I would have found my death in the Warden prison and as a man of honor, it is up to me to repay that debt.”

 

Anders sighed. “If we keep going like this, we’ll never separate, Mael. I was in your debt for not beheading me on sight. I am _still_ in your debt because you allow me to remain in Kirkwall, although you have every right to drag me back to Amaranthine. It’s a debt I can’t possibly repay, no matter how many times I bring you back from the brink of death.”

 

“I did tell you there are also selfish reasons for letting you stay here,” the Warden Commander pointed out, bemused.

 

“Why would the Grey Wardens possibly need a contact in Kirkwall?”

 

Mael shrugged. “You never know, Anders…why are Grey Wardens needed in general? Things change from one day to the other.” He gestured around. “Yesterday, you were looking forward to coming home and kissing your lover. Today, you don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

 

Hawke heard Anders’ breath hitch and felt, actually _felt_ , something vibrate inside the blond man, something deep and dark that left him with a cold feeling for a second.

 

“I should be out there, looking for him,” Anders murmured.

  
“You already are. Let them find Fenris for you and rest your own body and mind.”

 

“I say Hawke’s plan is the most logical,” Varric said. “What can be done for the surviving citizens is currently done by those whose responsibility it is, the Guardsmen and the Templars. I wouldn’t say no to a few hour’s rest after the day I had and you all must be exhausted from your trip to the Vimmarks. We are of no use to anyone if we collapse in an hour or two. Let us retire and meet again in a few hours.”

 

“I won’t sleep,” Anders argued. “I’ll keep watch down here.”

  
“Anders –“ Hawke began to object but a look from the mage silenced him.

 

Isabela was the first to leave the table, staggering toward the staircase. She was weary, Hawke noticed. He could only imagine the things she’d seen today, while Kirkwall fell apart around her. It honored the pirate, that she had not done what she usually did – leave at the first sight of trouble that was not her own. She had stayed, looked after their companions and gotten Merrill as well as people from Darktown out of the city in time; she had collaborated with Aveline, a woman Hawke was sometimes not so sure Isabela actually _liked_.

 

Mael got up next, starting to take off pieces of his armor as he followed the pirate upstairs. A surprisingly small, yet strong body, was uncovered, reminding Hawke of Fenris. Elves were rather fascinating creatures.

 

“You sure, Blondie?” Varric asked tiredly. “I can stay down here for a little while longer.”

 

“Go to bed, Varric,” Anders murmured, the attempt of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be alright.”

 

 

Hawke stayed with Anders for a while longer, while their companions got comfortable in the bedrooms upstairs. He listened to them moving around, to Varric cursing quietly and beds creaking. Then there was only silence, occasionally interrupted by the crackling of the fire.

 

“You’re scared to enter the Fade,” Hawke murmured eventually.

 

“No. I’m scared of what I will see when I do.” Anders shook his head. “So many died, Hawke. In a very cruel, painful way. And no matter what everyone says, it _is_ my fault. If I hadn’t created that explosive…”

 

“Meredith would have done something equally terrible otherwise.”

 

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all, Garrett. Not when I realize that it could have been me. If I hadn’t been separated from Justice, it would have been _me_ who would have killed innocent people. Maybe you or any of our friends, in my blind rage.” Anders let his head fall to the table. “You were right when you said that I am partly responsible for Meredith’s anger. I challenged her by smuggling mages out of the city and constantly trying to speak to Elthina about the situation in the Circle. Who knows how much my actions influenced her deeds, in the end.”

 

“You once said there can be no peace,” Hawke murmured. “Then you managed to make peace with yourself and the world around you, because you found a better purpose in your life.”

 

Anders tilted his head slightly and glanced at his friend.

 

“Just do that again. Make peace with yourself. You may have created the explosive, but you never handed it to anyone or told anyone about it. Even with Justice, you were responsible. _You_ didn’t kill anyone and we will never know if Justice would have gone through with it, with or without your consent, Anders. Meredith saw a chance and seized it. That’s the story of how Kirkwall was burned to the ground.” Hawke offered a tired smile. “And now we’ll build it up again. You will find a new home, maybe reopen your clinic; but this time, in surroundings far less dangerous to your kind. Whatever you once meant to achieve and whatever it was Meredith had hoped to achieve, I am sure the outcome will offer better perspectives for mages, because her actions proved something has to change.”

 

Anders exhaled shakily and closed his eyes. “I _hate_ you,” he muttered without conviction and Hawke chuckled before finally getting up from the table, patting Anders’ back.

 

“Try to get some rest. I don’t want to have to drag you across Kirkwall in search of Fenris and explain to him why you are in no shape to give him a proper greeting when we find him.”

 

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Anders’ voice was thick with tears he refused to cry. At least, just yet.

 

“It’s Fenris.” Hawke let his big hand stroke over the back of Anders’ head. “What do you think?”

 

Another shaky exhale and Anders lifted his head, leaning back in his chair that creaked suspiciously under his weight and the weight of his armor.

 

“It’s Fenris.”


	6. SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *takes a deep breath*  
> I have no explanation for the greater part of this chapter, other than **Feya** being to blame for this entirely -.-  
>  So, since she is to blame, it is also dedicated to her. :-* Now I gotta update tags LOL.

Despite Hawke’s intentions to go straight to bed, the possibility of a hot bath to soothe his sore body had made him settle in the bathroom instead. Hoping that the sound of the bathtub filling wouldn’t disturb his friends’ sleep, he took his time taking off his armor. Bruises and even the one or other cut were revealed as he slowly undressed, his mind with those who had lost their lives during the past day and those dear to him who were still missing and whom he hoped to find alive and well.

 

He hissed when he peeled off his pants, the final piece of clothing, and discovered a rather long, nasty cut on his left thigh that he had not noticed until now. He checked it for any sign of inflammation or festering and figured he had possibly acquired that one during the fight with Meredith.

 

Hawke’s gaze traveled to his sword, resting against the tub, covered in dirt and dried blood. He recalled cutting off Meredith’s arm and yet she still didn’t stop. The red lyrium that had not only tainted Bartrand’s mind, but also hers, had to be rather powerful. She had awakened _statues_ with that sword. The memory was enough to make chills running down his spine.

 

Hawke wondered how much more of this red lyrium could be found in the Deep Roads, hidden in long abandoned and forgotten thaigs. He should probably mention the possibility to Mael. The Grey Wardens would look for it and destroy it; the Deep Roads were their responsibility, after all. A mere idol had been enough to make a woman tear apart the city she had claimed to protect. What would a larger amount of red lyrium do to people, if it were discovered and brought to the surface?

 

Would it be wise to inform the dwarves in Orzammar as well? Hawke made a mental note to speak to Varric about that.

 

The sudden feel of cold steel pressing against his throat had Garrett Hawke’s thoughts come to a stuttering halt and he stilled.

 

“So unattentive in such dangerous times,” an accented voice whispered into his ear, “would I be anyone else, your life would be forfeit now, yes?”

 

Hawke exhaled slowly. “Maker damn it, Zevran,” he replied in kind. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

 

The Antivan chuckled, lips still close to Hawke’s ear. “I’m an assassin, it’s what I do, my dear Garrett,” he pointed out. “I may have failed killing the Warden Commander when I was sent to do so, but I _am_ good. Very good.”

 

Garrett frowned. “You were sent to kill Mael?”

 

“Many years ago, by a very terrible man, yes. Little did I know he was sending me toward a new destiny.” The sharp blade caressed delicately along Hawke’s throat before Zevran pulled away completely and instead circled Hawke, who sat on a stool, his clothes and armor pieces scattered around him. Zevran smirked and leaned over the tub to stop the water from running.

 

Hawke glanced down at himself, only now becoming aware of his nude state and with an awkward cough, he lowered his hands to his lap, shielding his private parts from Zevran’s studying gaze.

 

“It would seem I arrived just in time, yes?” the Antivan asked with a smirk. “It would have been a shame to miss our bathing date.”

 

“How did you know we’re here?”

 

“Mael left a sign for me on the front door. Since it was quiet when I got here, I assumed you were all sleeping and decided to find another way inside than knocking.” The smirk widened. “May I point out that the only other entrance I found was the window to this very bathroom and finding you awake is a rather pleasant surprise?”

 

“Well, you certainly surprised _me_ ,” Hawke said around an awkward laugh and Zevran bowed with a smirk. His gaze fell to the gash in Hawke’s thigh.

  
“You should have this taken care of,” the Antivan pointed out, less playful now. “Where’s our resident healer?”

 

“Downstairs, but not in a very good state of mind.” Keeping one hand to cover his privates, Hawke began fishing for the shirt he’d worn beneath his armor.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Fenris is…missing.”

 

“That is unfortunate, yes?” Zevran said thoughtfully. “Have you been looking for him?”

 

“We plan to, after a few hours sleep. All we know is that he was in the Keep when it collapsed. We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

 

“I see.”

 

It was rather gracious, Hawke thought, the way Zevran went to his knees next to him, his hands coming to rest on his injured thigh. They felt hot against his already heated skin as they carefully checked the wound, and certainly distracting enough that Hawke didn’t even feel the pain the Antivan’s probing caused. A flush crept from his neck into his cheeks at their close proximity.

 

“Mael is sleeping in one of the rooms,” he managed to get out while Zevran found a cloth and soaked it in the hot water in the bathtub.

 

“So he is and I shall not disturb his much-needed rest, yes?” Zevran replied easily as he knelt once again and began to carefully clean the wound. Hawke winced at the initial sting, the blush in his cheeks intensifying when one of the assassin’s hands grabbed his knee to keep his leg still.

 

“When’s the last time you slept, Zevran?” Hawke asked gently.

 

“A Crow is trained to endure longer periods of little to no sleep.” Zevran flashed him a grin. “Do not worry about me. Fighting a blight does wonders to your stamina, my dear Garrett.”

 

“From what I hear, you are no longer a Crow, though.”

 

Zevran removed the cloth from Hawke’s leg and Hawke barely managed to suppress a shiver when the assassin’s strong hand caressed over sore muscle.

 

“Mael plans to return to Denerim with the next ship available, to inform Alistair of Kirkwall’s state.” Hawke covered the Antivan’s hand with his and stilled it. The blond elf hummed thoughtfully at that as fingertips pressed into tense flesh.

  
“So he does,” Zevran agreed quietly. “He’s more than overdue to rejoin with his beloved. Alistair will be pleased.”

 

Hawke offered a crooked smile at that. Despite the tiredness of his body, Zevran’s touches felt pleasant, sending tingling sensations into all the right parts – or the wrong ones. Hawke wasn’t quite sure yet. The elf had been teasing and flirting the entire time spent on investigating the Warden prison and Hawke would be lying if he said it had left him unaffected.

 

Anders had been open with his sexuality since the day they had met; Hawke still found himself smiling at the memory of Anders becoming flustered after he had, more or less accidentally, let slip details about his past relationship with Karl, the morning after the mage ended his former lover’s life and Hawke had gotten worried and visited him at his clinic in Darktown.

 

Zevran was _daring_ with his sexuality, it seemed. Extrovert, unashamed and occasionally a Maker be damned _tease_. Hawke could see how it would be difficult for some people to not become either flustered or intrigued when it came to the Antivan. He knew little about the Antivan Crows and their training, but he had heard rumors about Antivan Crows being seducers.

 

Hawke wondered, for a moment, what it must have been like, living with Zevran and Anders in one place, back in the days where the mage had still been with the Grey Wardens. Their occasional bickering suggested, at the very least, that these two had collided more than once, a daring elf and a brazing mage, both young and cheeky. Mael certainly seemed exasperated with them, now and then.

 

“Why did you stay with the Wardens?” Hawke asked while Zevran cleaned, then soaked the cloth again.

 

Zevran smiled and resumed his position by Hawke’s feet. “Mael had every right to kill me when we first met. I sure had planned to kill _him_ , but he saw use for me and I saw my opportunity to get away from the Crows for good. My life was forfeit, seeing as I had failed to complete the mission I volunteered for. Death would have awaited me on any other path.”

 

“Why would anyone volunteer to hunt down and kill a Grey Warden?”

 

Zevran shrugged. “Let’s say, at the time, I did not actually plan to survive when I set out to find Mael and Alistair and the prospect of this mission being my certain death was appealing, yes?”

 

Hawke frowned at the elf, while Zevran cleaned his wound again. “We _all_ have skeletons in the closet, my dear Hawke,” Zevran murmured.

 

For a moment, neither man spoke. Hawke concentrated on the feel of Zevran’s hands on his skin, their close proximity and marveled at the sudden change of atmosphere.

 

Eventually, the cloth went flying and Zevran moved, his hands coming to rest on Hawke’s knees as he situated himself between them. Hawke felt the muscles in his thighs twitch in reaction, a tingling sensation traveling straight to his groin. There was a mischievous glint in the elf’s brown eyes as he braced himself on Hawke’s legs and brought his face close to the warrior’s.

 

“So, you say Mael plans to return to Denerim soon.”

 

“That appears to be the plan.”

 

“That means we’re a little hard-pressed for time, yes?”

 

Hawke smiled. “Are we? Why’s that?”

 

“I’m going to make this very simple for you,” Zevran said. “A simple question and I’m only going to ask once.” He leaned in some more and Hawke felt the Antivan’s warm breath caressing invitingly over his lips. Suddenly, his hands were itching to reach out and touch Zevran. “Do you want me to stay or do you want me to leave?” the Antivan murmured.

  
“Right now?”

 

“Right now,” the elf confirmed as he leaned in further, lips ghosting over the by now rapidly beating pulse on Hawke’s neck. The warm sensation was followed by moist lips pressing a careful kiss to the spot and Hawke felt what little resistance may have still been present on his mind resolve at the touch.

 

It was surprising, Hawke thought, how easily instincts took over. Their mouths met, Zevran’s lips warm and demanding against his and this time, Hawke’s hands immediately reached out, finding purchase on the Antivan’s narrow hips for a moment, pulling him closer. Their kiss deepened, lips parting and tongues caressing each other, and with a confidence Hawke hadn’t known he possessed, his hands began to divest Zevran of his armor, piece by piece, while talented hands discovered his own body, easily finding the places that set Hawke on fire. Palms mapped his broad chest, fingernails scratching lightly over coarse hair and teasing sensitive nipples, making the warrior gasp against unyielding lips and a clever tongue that explored the carverns of his mouth.

 

A low, appreciative moan escaped Zevran, the moment Hawke’s hands came into contact with his bare skin. Zevran gentled their kiss before breaking it, letting Hawke explore and get used to unknown terrains.

 

Palms caressed soft skin stretching over hard muscles. Hawke let his eyes follow the movements of his hands and he smirked at the numerous tattoos he found covering Zevran’s upper body, tracing the outlines of the one spreading across the elf’s left breast with a fingertip. It was shaped like a dragon.

  
Zevran’s mouth found his neck again, sucking on the warm skin in the hollow of his throat for a moment before kissing and licking a path south. Hawke found his world reduced to the wet heat of the Antivan’s lips and tongue; the pleasure they gave as they traveled across his torso, leaving a moist trail that cooled in the air, eliciting shivers; the white-hot need that exploded below his navel as they wrapped around his aching erection, his thighs trembling.

 

And then they were moving, Zevran gently guiding him to the floor, pulling Hawke down against his lithe body. Shared heated, passionate kisses as their bodies moved together, slick with sweat and skin burning hot. The breathless moan that escaped Zevran died against Hawke’s lips when their bodies joined, the elf’s back arching off the floor, his body shaking with the force of Hawke’s thrusts.

 

Hawke lost himself in the tight heat, the hungry kisses, his fingers digging into Zevran’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Zevran tilted his hips as he reached between their bodies, taking hold of himself, the change of angle allowing Hawke to thrust deeper. The Antivan threw his head back with a raspy moan when Hawke’s hand joined his, stroking, squeezing. In response, Zevran tightened around Hawke, the sudden vice-like grip around his cock enough to send him over the edge with a hoarse shout that was quickly muffled by a slender, calloused hand. Hawke gasped against the palm, his hips continuing to thrust weakly as he spent himself inside the Antivan’s welcoming body.

 

Eventually, he slumped and Zevran chuckled breathlessly as he removed his hand from Hawke’s mouth to thread through the warrior’s dark hair instead.

 

“It would seem you’re not only a loud one when shouting commands during battle, yes?” Zevran asked fondly.

 

“Apologies,” Hawke muttered against the elf’s chest.

  
“Oh, I don’t mind at all, my dear Garrett. As for your sleeping companions…”

 

Hawke blushed. “Shut up,” he said without conviction and slowly pulled out of Zevran.

 

“You are welcome to make me. Though I would suggest you take your bath first and we take this somewhere more comfortable.”

 

Hawke lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow at Zevran, an amused smile on his lips.

 

“If you want to, that is.” Zevran grinned disarmingly.

 

“You truly are an odd one, aren’t you?” Hawke asked with a chuckle. “I can’t believe _this_ actually just happened and you’re talking about doing it again?”

 

“Well, I did tell you this is going to happen if you let it,” the elf pointed out. “Maybe not so directly, but you were given a choice _and_ you consented. Chances are we will never see each other again, so I plan to make the most of it until I accompany our dear Warden Commander back to Denerim.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you wish me to leave now.”

 

With a sigh, Hawke leaned down and pressed his lips to Zevran’s. “You are an odd one alright,” he murmured.

 

 

~*~

 

She was getting tired.

  
More than once, Lianni had almost stumbled and fallen, her tiny feet dragging more than taking actual steps. Fenris took turns between carrying her or slowing his own steps when she walked next to him, her tiny hand clutching his fearfully.

 

Eventually, Fenris had to admit it was useless, trying to push her on. She was only a child and did not possess the stamina of a grown man and trained warrior used to carrying on despite tired limbs, an incredible thirst and hunger. He was desperate for fresh air and daylight, desperate to get out of this place and find his friends but the tunnels seemed endless and slowly, Fenris began to worry that they were walking in the wrong direction.

 

“Fenris, I’m tireds,” Lianni complained and surprised him by stopping suddenly.

 

“So am I,” Fenris muttered. “But this is no place to sleep.”

 

“But I can’t walks any mores.”

 

He looked at her and frowned when he found the tiny girl on the verge of tears, her eyes glassy. She looked ready to fall over and her feet were in a terrible state, chafed and covered in more scratches and cuts by now. Fenris glanced down at his own feet and found them no better off, but it was something he was used to, especially after following Hawke to the worst places Thedas had to offer for _years_.

  
“Can’t you heal yourself?” he asked her. Lianni offered a truly lost look in response and again, Fenris frowned. Obviously, that girl belonged to the Circle; obviously, that meant she had to have magic abilities, else she would have been raised by the Chantry instead. She had healed him enough to keep going, when he’d lost consciousness earlier. “Like you did with me,” he elaborated.

 

“I dids not, Auntie dids.”

 

Did that little girl really have no idea?

 

With a sigh, Fenris lifted her up and waited until the little girl had settled comfortably in his arms, her own tiny ones wrapped around his neck. Adjusting his sword so it wouldn’t cause any injury to her, Fenris walked on. Having to carry her would tire him out fast, he knew, but at least they would manage a bit more of the way ahead of them before they were both too exhausted to keep going.

 

As he walked, Lianni fell asleep against him and Fenris smiled humorlessly to himself. A good ten years ago, he would have left a child like Lianni behind. Maybe he would have even ended her life, bitter and resentful of anything magic, and told himself he merely prevented the uprise of another _monster_. Now, he found himself wondering what sort of child Anders had been, before being taken to the Circle, before discovering his abilities. Had he been as clueless? Had he grown up safe, loved and cherished by his parents? Had he been a quiet one or a wild child, constantly causing trouble like he did once he was older?

 

Neither man had ever really spoken of their families, Fenris realized. Fenris, for his part, simply didn’t remember much, nothing more than fragments, like the color of his mother’s hair or the sound of her voice. He had no memories of his upbringing. The only connection that remained to his past life was his sister and Varania had betrayed her own blood, her own brother, in favor of becoming a magister.

 

As for Anders, other than the blond originally coming from the Anderfels, which had provided his name when no one at the Circle knew what else to call him, and his apparently brittle relationship with his father, who had thought him ‘a sin in the eye of the Maker’, as the mage had recently revealed when they had been discussing Sebastian, that was where Fenris’ knowledge about the mage’s childhood stopped. He could not remember Anders ever sharing much about it in general, not even when around Hawke or Varric; partly because he probably didn’t want to give Fenris more ammunition during the times when all they had done was bicker and snap at each other.

  
Fenris probably only knew half of the things Anders had experienced during his time in the Circle, too, and Anders had always told these stories with an obvious fake cheerfulness – unless it was about that cat with the ridiculous name, those stories always seemed to make Anders happy. A lot of other things, he could only guess by the snide comments or reactions to certain words or actions; like Anders’ reaction at the clinic. It seemed forever ago now, but Fenris had never forgotten the words: _You forced me down_. The solitary confiment the mage had only briefly mentioned; his more than obvious terror at the prospect of being made Tranquil. _There are worse things than death_. And the mage’s scarred back spoke for itself.

 

It was shameful, he thought, that Hawke and Varric probably knew more about Anders than the elf who _lived_ with the mage. He wondered if they even knew his real name.

 

The air got thicker, more rotten, the further Fenris walked and he sighed to himself when he found his suspicions from earlier confirmed – they were definitely walking in the wrong direction. Instead of getting closer to the surface, they had gone further down, further into the Deep Roads and that meant closer to danger.

 

“Fasta vass,” he cursed under his breath and with something akin to despair, he turned around and looked back the way they had just come from. They had been walking for hours since the last crossroad; they had no water, no food and returning to that crossroad would cost a lot of time and energy neither he nor Lianni had.

 

A strange noise from deep down reached his keen ears and Fenris felt his body tense. He _knew_ that noise and this time, it was decidedly _not_ yet another child hiding from him in the dark. Willing himself to move, Fenris found his feet carrying him faster now, back up the tunnel and away from what was lurking, _hunting_ in the dark and would have them for dinner if they didn’t get away fast enough. Lianni made a small noise of distress against his chest and even though Fenris knew she wouldn’t hear him in her sleep, he shushed her gently, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. What had awakened in the darkness, deep down, preferred to hunt in packs and Fenris was not in any shape to deal with them and keep himself and the child in his arms alive.

 

For the first time in a long while, Fenris was afraid.


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' helpful little shades return and Aveline delivers news.  
> Also - a bit of comedic relief because they do need it.

Anders felt something wrap tightly around his neck before he had the chance to come to fully. With a frown, he reached up blindly, trying to figure out what it was, while his consciousness fought the last tendrils of sleep.

 

Strong hands squeezed and Anders choked when he suddenly found himself unable to breathe. His body reacted by slipping into a state of panic, legs kicking at the form hovering above him, his own hands desperately trying to pull off the ones wrapped around his neck. Amber eyes fluttered open, wide and fearful to find out who was attacking him, the tight grip around his neck turning vice-like.

 

With disbelief, Anders stared into a pair of emerald green eyes spitting hate and disgust at him and his lips soundlessly formed words, pleas, his eyes tearing up as he felt himself go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. His wildly kicking legs began to feel heavy and slowed. ‘Why?’, Anders mouthed desperately, but the once beloved face hovering over his merely sneered at him.

 

Spots began to dance before his eyes and Anders gasped when he felt his body go lax, his windpipe threatening to crush from the violence inflicted on his throat.

 

In the background, he saw something shimmer, light reflecting on metal and Anders watched in horror when a broadsword cut through Fenris’ body like a knife through softened butter. The vice-like grip around his throat disappeared and Anders gasped loudly, his body seizing momentarily as oxygen flooded his lungs and his now relaxing windpipe sent him into a painful coughing fit. “No,” he moaned out between coughs. “No!”

 

“Anders!”

 

A hand fisted in his hair and pulled him into a sitting position. Anders took turns between gasping and drawing shaky breaths, eyes searching for Fenris’ body on the floor. He frowned when all he could find was what looked like a pile of ashes.

 

“Take slow, deep breaths,” a melodic voice told him.

 

The mage looked up and glowered at Mael. “Healer,” he gasped out, “know that. Idiot!” Anders reached up and wrapped his own hand around his aching throat, moaning in relief when the healing spell relaxed it and allowed him to breathe more regularly. “What…” Anders swallowed. “What, in Andraste’s name, was that?”

 

“The proof that you would utterly _fail_ as a blood mage,” Mael remarked dryly. “I guess I need not worry too much.”

 

Again, Anders glanced at the pile on the floor. His body was slowly relaxing, hands and feet tingling. “Pardon?”

 

Mael frowned. “You were attacked by shades, Anders. I assume they were the ones you summoned.”

 

“I didn’t see a shade, I saw Fenris and he was strangling me,” Anders murmured, gaze returning to Mael. He paused at the sight of the Warden Commander, barefooted, leaning on a huge broadsword, the only piece of clothing on that slender elven body a pair of leggings. Mael’s hair was tousled. “You…look ridiculous,” the mage blurted out.

 

“Excuse me?” Mael grunted out and Anders started to chuckle.

  
“I’m, I’m sorry,” Anders gasped out. “It’s just…you’re a tiny, almost naked elf with a sword, the same size as you, you look like you just fell out of bed and…” The rest was lost in laughter.

 

Mael huffed. “I did, in fact, just fall out of bed, you ridiculous _shemlen_ , because I felt your distress and knew something was off.” He scowled. “And I’m _not_ tiny, Anders.”

 

That only made the mage laugh more.

 

“Besides,” the Warden Commander added, “you should look at _yourself_ , all sprawled across the table like a Satinalia feast.”

 

Anders calmed and knocked one fist against the table he was - indeed - lying on.

 

“I suggest dancing on the table instead, you’d look less pathetic,” Mael deadpanned. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

 

The mage snorted and tried to sit up, which proved a little difficult with the weight of the armor holding him down. “Maker damn it!” he cursed, limbs flailing, as he tried to apply enough leverage so he could at least roll to his side.

 

“Need a hand?” Mael teased. “Although I am not sure a _tiny_ elf could help the big man get on his feet again.”

 

“Andraste’s _tits_ , Mael, would you help me already?” Anders complained. A second later, he found himself grabbed and pulled up, off the table and onto his feet. Surprised, Anders staggered a little, a bewildered expression on his face when he looked at the Warden Commander. Mael lifted an eyebrow pointedly. “Fine, _fine,_ I take it back,” the mage said with a chuckle.

 

“Good choice.”

 

“Are you hurt? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go into a fight without any protection at all.” Amber eyes gave Mael a quick look-over.

 

“I’m fine. Shades are actually easy to deal with.” Mael crossed his arms. “Especially those summoned by an _idiot_ who actually has no idea what he’s doing.”

 

Anders made a face at him. “I never claimed I possess a great knowledge on these things and honestly? Neither do I want to.”

 

“I know.” Mael sighed and shook his head. “You _did_ read that passage in the book I gave you, where it says that shades may attempt to possess the mage that summoned them, right?”

 

“You read the book, too?”

 

“It was amongst your belongings that you left behind at Vigil’s Keep,” Mael said. “Maybe you’d like to retrieve them one day.”

 

Anders sighed and slumped into one of the chairs. “And find myself shackled the moment I set foot into the Keep?”

  
“Only if you’re being naughty.” Mael paused. “I guess Sigrun will tie you up, anyway. She was pretty peeved when you disappeared and she had no one to pick on any longer. You know how she gets.”

 

The mage gave a half-hearted chuckle at that and once again glanced the dusty piles on the floor. “There goes my brilliant plan to find Fenris,” he murmured and rubbed his throat absent-mindedly.

 

“You will find him, Anders.” Mael sat down next to him, leaning his sword against the table. “So, you saw Fenris instead of a shade, strangling you?”

 

Anders made a face, unwilling to recall what just happened. “It makes sense, in a very twisted way, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Shades don’t forcefully possess mages, they beguile you.”

 

“And your lover strangling you is beguiling?” Mael’s eyebrows shot up at that, giving the mage a questioning look. “Maybe I _should_ be worried, after all?”

 

“Funny,” Anders huffed. “I suppose they thought I wouldn’t put up much of a fight if I believed it was Fenris.”

 

“I shall hope you _would_ , if he ever did that to you.” Mael ran a hand through his hair. “Not that I am not aware you have a death wish of sorts, Anders.”

 

“I got better,” Anders said humorlessly. “Turns out no matter what I do, people keep refusing to kill me.”

 

“I am aware that your original thought was that I’d kill you on sight, when I come for you,” the Warden Commander said. “If it were anyone else, that’s probably what would have happened, too. Apostate, runaway Warden, abomination…your career, thus far, is quite impressive.”

 

“A Templar wouldn’t hesitate,” the mage answered. “I just wasn’t ready yet to give them that satisfaction.”

 

“Part of the reason why I conscripted you was to keep you away from the Templars. I have, admittedly, done a poor job at that.”

 

“Do we really want to talk about this again?” Anders looked up to Mael.

 

“Not really.”

 

 

The creaking of wooden stairs caught their attention and Anders smiled when he saw Hawke.

 

“Maker, what’s with the noise?” Hawke asked around a yawn as he approached the two of them.

 

“ _You_ have no room to complain about any _noise_ ,” Mael pointed out. “I take it Zevran and you are done, finally?”

 

Anders’ eyes went almost comically wide. “What?”

 

“You – no, too tired to think of a smart comeback.” Hawke cleared his throat.

 

“Garrett!” the mage exclaimed. “Maker, I don’t believe it!”

 

“Oh, I do,” Mael remarked dryly.

 

“Maker!” Anders groaned.

 

“Okay, now that we’ve discussed it…” Hawke gestured around vaguely. “What was going on here?”

 

“The shades I summoned to find Fenris for me came back to bite me in the ass,” Anders muttered. “We have established that I fail as blood mage. Bet that makes you happy.”

 

“I’m…” Hawke frowned. “I’m sorry, Anders.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“I’m not,” Mael offered. “Although I understand that this is putting a damper on your mood, Anders.”

 

“Thanks, I guess.”

 

Hawke was thoughtful for a moment. There was no question that they’d all go and try to find Fenris, even if they had to turn every stick and stone of what was left of Kirkwall, but if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure where to begin, other than at the collapsed Keep. From what Varric had told them, though, it was more likely that Fenris was buried beneath the rubble and if they found him, it would only be his dead body.

 

“We could ask Merrill,” he suggested quietly. “I know you two aren’t exactly friends, but – she is a blood mage. Maybe she can do something to help that none of us can.”

 

“Merrill is on Sundermount by now,” Anders pointed out tiredly. “It would take hours to get to her that I’d rather spend searching.”

 

“Then only one of us will go and ask her,” Hawke offered. “The rest stay here.” He glanced at Mael. “I imagine you’ll be wanting to go to the docks and see if you can find a ship that takes you to Ferelden, in the meanwhile? I, uh…informed Zevran of your plans to return home.”

 

The corners of Mael’s mouth quirked up. “Did you now.”

 

Anders found himself smiling at Hawke’s rather embarrassed face and suddenly, the thought of Mael and Zevran leaving them to return to Ferelden, of their companions splitting up all across Kirkwall and the Free Marches, filled him with an incredible sadness. For years, they had all been in one place, never too far away from each other. Merrill would always be just one lift to Lowtown away from him, and while they indeed weren’t the best of friends – Anders wasn’t even sure if he considered them to be friends at all – it had always been soothing to know that a familiar face was within reach if he needed to see one. Aveline would be found patrolling all of Kirkwall’s streets and dark alleys, if she wasn’t seeing to administrative tasks at Viscount’s Keep and more than once, she would stop by Anders’ clinic. There was the secret passage to Hawke’s estate that put Anders at ease, knowing that safety was near, should he ever need to escape. Isabela and Varric were usually found at the Hanged Man and Fenris lurking and brooding in his stolen mansion. Anders _always_ knew where they were.

 

And he had, admittedly, gotten used to Mael and Zevran accompanying them by now. He found it hard to imagine them gone and probably never seeing them again.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” Anders whispered unexpectedly, not only surprising himself but the other two men in the room with him.

 

Mael’s eyebrows shot up at the revelation. “Only a few hours ago, you seemed somewhat eager to get rid of me.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. I just know what it’s like to miss someone and be waiting for them to come back.” Anders offered the Warden Commander a lopsided smile. “After all, Mael, the taint cuts short our lives. We don’t have much time to waste on matters not to our concern, if we want to indulge in the beautiful sides of life before the Calling comes. After all, there’s no telling how many years we’ve got left until that happens.”

 

There was an unreadable expression on the Warden Commander’s face now.

 

“But I do stand by my opinion that Kirkwall is nothing the Grey Wardens need to concern themselves with,” Anders continued. “You came here for the Grey Warden prison…and for me, I guess. Both matters are solved, as well as they can be.”

 

“Unless, of course, the Grey Wardens are bored because there is no blight to fight,” Hawke quipped.

 

Mael huffed at that, a crooked smile on his lips. “We are still very much occupied with the repair of Amaranthine and the rebuild of the order, naturally. I can’t really say I have the time to be bored, or to be away from Vigil’s Keep for longer than necessary, admittedly.” He looked at Anders pointedly.

 

“I can’t magically repair an entire city, Mael,” Anders said with a sigh. “We mages are amazing, but not _that_ amazing.”

 

“We could have used your healing skills, though.”

 

“Fine, make me feel _even_ worse about running off.”

 

A loud, harsh knock against the entrance door had the three men fall silent. Hawke could see Anders tense in his chair; loud, harsh knocks seldom meant good. It was something the mage was used to from the Templars.

 

As Hawke exchanged a look with Mael, he could see a movement in the shadows, graceful and fast. Mael gave a knowing smile.

 

Another knock and Zevran was by the door in one fluent movement, leaving the safety of the shadows to see who demanded entry. Hawke saw the Antivan’s stance relax and he pushed away the table blocking the door before opening it.

 

“Sounds like Lady Man-Hands is paying a visit,” Isabela’s annoyed voice came from upstairs, accompanied by the familiar sound of Varric chuckling.

 

“I heard that!” Aveline growled as she came marching into the Hanged Man. “Get your ass down here, whore.”

 

“Charming!” the pirate shot back but was already descending the staircase, Varric in tow.

 

“How did you know where to find us?” Hawke greeted Aveline with a smile.

 

The Guard Captain rolled her eyes. “I _always_ find one of you here, Hawke. Happy to know some things never change. But I’ve also met an elf who had come up from Darktown in search of food and other needed supplies and he said none of you were seen at Anders’ clinic.” She glanced at the mage. “A few dozen people occupy it at the moment, by the way.”

 

Varric snorted at that. “No longer a sanctum of healing, but still a sanctum of salvation, eh, Blondie?”

 

“I guess,” Anders murmured.

  
“Anyway, I was looking for you,” Aveline told Anders. “I have something for you.”

 

She reached for the small bag she was carrying over her shoulder and turned it over. Something heavy and metallic dropped on the table.

 

“Shit,” Varric muttered and Anders’ felt his heart clench when he looked at the gauntlet. It was not the same he’d found, he noticed. This one was crushed and caked with blood. _Left arm injured, possible fracture of the left wrist_ , his healer instinct instantly provided. _He probably fell on that arm first and the spikes cut into his body_.

 

Slowly, Anders reached out and grabbed the gauntlet. “Where did you find it?” he asked shakily.

  
“Donnic and a few of my Guardsmen went up to Viscount’s Keep, a couple hours ago, to search the area for possible survivors,” Aveline said. “Three of them rappelled down, after the Templars provided us with ropes long enough for the task. After Cullen and his men found survivors at the Chantry and in Hightown, we had hope to find some at the Keep as well, including some of our own men who had still been there when it blew up.”

 

“I’m glad Donnic and you weren’t there when it happened,” Hawke murmured.

 

“Pure luck,” Aveline grunted out. “We had just been on our way to the Keep when everything started to go to the Void around us.”

 

“Did you find him?” Mael asked, knowing that Anders couldn’t. The mage was holding the crushed gauntlet to his chest and trying very hard to keep himself together. “Did you find Fenris?”

 

Aveline sighed. “No, we didn’t find Fenris. At least, not really.”

 

“Not really?” Anders choked out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“One of the men found footprints in the dirt, as well as a trace of blood leading away from where he found the gauntlet.” Aveline made a face at Anders. “Toward a passage leading to the Deep Roads. That’s how far down the Keep went, if you believe it.”

 

“The Deep Roads?” Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Andraste’s sweet bosom, Blondie, just how strong was that stuff you threw together?”

 

“You’ve seen what Kirkwall looks like at the moment, right?” Anders replied tersely.

 

“It’s hard to overlook,” Aveline snapped at Anders and the mage flinched. “But I will do so for now, for your sake, you blighted idiot. I don’t exactly like you, but I do like Fenris and he happens to be one of my husband’s friends. I am telling you that the Guard who found this is certain that Fenris was still alive after that fall and walked away from there.”

 

“Into the Deep Roads?” Mael asked to clarify.

 

“That’s what it looks like, at least. I don’t know if Fenris is still alive as we speak. But there is…hope that might be the case.”

 

“Deep Roads expedition, anyone?” Hawke asked with fake cheerfulness. “We have an elf to rescue!”

 

Aveline glowered at Anders for a moment, who showed no reaction to her words. “For the love of…!” She leaned in and flicked the mage’s forehead. “Did you just listen, you little shit?” she asked and finally, Anders looked up.

 

_Footprints in the dirt. Trace of blood. Leading to the Deep Roads_.

 

“He’s alive…” Anders whispered, eyes widening as he stared right into Aveline’s annoyed face.

 

“I have no idea how he didn’t break his spine when he went down, but yes, that appears to be the case. We all know what lurks in the Deep Roads and Fenris is alone. Not making promises he survived up until now.”

 

“He’s alive,” Anders said again, with more confidence this time.

 

“Can you get us down there?” Hawke asked. “It would make sense to start looking for him from where he walked off.”

 

“Donnic is waiting for you at the Keep,” Aveline confirmed.

 

“Ugh, seriously? The Deep Roads?” Isabela asked.

 

“Awww, Bela, where did your sense of adventure run off to?” Zevran asked teasingly. Isabela spun around, wide-eyed.

 

“You – Zev? How did you get here? When did you get here?” Isabela squealed and jumped at the Antivan. Mael rolled his eyes. Hawke looked – not very amused.

 

“A few hours ago, yes?” Zevran replied with a smirk.

 

“Is there anyone she hasn’t slept with, yet?” Aveline groused.

 

“Me,” Varric replied, grinning.

 

“And me,” Mael said, raising a hand. “She did offer, though.”

 

Aveline snorted. “Of course she did.”

  
“Oh, shut it, Lady Man-Hands,” Isabela chirped, arms and legs still wrapped around Zevran, “you’re just jealous.”

 

Anders chose that moment to bolt up, hastily making his way for the entrance.

 

“Anders, for Maker’s sake!” Hawke called after the mage but it was futile.

 

“I guess we should get going,” Mael murmured, “before he does something stupid again.”

 

“You should get dressed first, though,” Varric suggested.

 

“I assume that means we’ll stay for a while longer, yes?” Zevran asked Mael. His eyes met Hawke’s and he winked at the taller man.

 

The Warden Commander’s only response was an exasperated sigh.


	8. EIGHT

Fenris awoke to something cold and wet running down his left cheek and instinctively let his head fall back. The next big drop of water hit his lips and he licked it off, then tilted his head back further and opened his mouth.

 

Cool water dripped on his tongue and into the back of his throat and he groaned in relief when it soothed the soreness away, if only a fraction.

 

Fenris startled, suddenly becoming aware that he must have fallen asleep – or maybe he’d lost consciousness? He remembered becoming too tired to keep walking. They had managed a good part of the way back and he had been relieved to find a crevice, just broad enough for them both to slip into and get some rest, mostly shielded from prying eyes. Fenris was not stupid enough to believe they were completely safe, though, so he had planned to just close his eyes, but stay alert.

 

Activating his markings, he looked around and his heart sank when he found Lianni was gone.

 

“Fasta vass,” Fenris cursed and made his way back into the tunnel slowly. “Lianni?” he whispered. He could neither hear nor see anything that would point him into the little girl’s direction. What he did hear, though, was the pitter-patter of Deepstalker feet and the cooing and squeaking that was characteristic of them whenever they were on a hunt.

 

And Fenris was their prey.

 

Fenris slipped back into the crevice for a moment and grabbed his sword, then hurried up the tunnel and away from his hunters. He could hear the cooing increase and realized they _knew_ he was close.

 

Fenris phased and ran, the world blurring around him. He ignored the shadows surrounding him. He never really liked phasing, despised moving partially in the Fade and usually avoided it when he could. He figured his chances were better, though, if the Deepstalkers couldn’t actually attack him. His eyes kept searching for the tiny girl he’d lost, hoping she hadn’t snuck away and right into their claws while he’d been out.

 

Phasing allowed the elf to move faster in general, and soon, he could spot the crossroad where they had originally taken the wrong way, moving deeper instead of closer to the surface.  The air cleared, the closer he got to it.

 

Fenris stumbled into the crossroad and dephased, pausing for a  moment to catch his breath.

 

“Fenris, look!”

 

Fenris frowned and looked up, His face fell when he spotted Lianni, sitting on the ground with a huge smile and waving at him. Next to her sat…a spiderling. For a moment, he found himself reminded of Anders once again – he looked exactly like that whenever he saw a kitten. Except _kittens_ usually weren’t the size of a five year old child.

 

“Do not make any sudden movements,” Fenris told her, as calmly as he could.

 

“It’s so cutes!” Lianni said. “We beens playings.”

 

Slowly, Fenris closed up to the little girl and her new found “pet” friend. The spiderling changed its stance immediately, rattling at Fenris. Lianni frowned at it. “It doesn’t likes you,” she said with remorse.

 

“The feeling is mutual,” Fenris snarled as he pointed his sword at the spiderling. It was smart enough to back away from the little girl at the sight of the broadsword, though the rattling did not cease. “Come here,” Fenris told Lianni. “Slowly.”

 

Lianni pouted but to Fenris’ relief, she listened and slowly got up.

 

“Why is it angrys?” she asked, the moment Fenris managed to grasp her little shoulder.

 

“That thing is poisonous and a danger,” Fenris told her. “Not a pet to play with.”

 

“But it was nice untils you gots heres.”

 

“Only because it had hopes you’d be its queen’s next meal.”

 

That only made Lianni pout more and Fenris swung his sword once at the spiderling. It rattled in response before hurrying off into the darkness ahead of them. Fenris wasn’t sure if they’d be left alone now or if they had to expect the spiderling to return with some of his friends, but he wasn’t going to wait and find out. Already, he could hear the Deepstalkers. His attempts to lose them had been futile.

 

When a terrifying screech echoed through the tunnels, Lianni whimpered and clung to Fenris’ leg.

  
Fenris realized he had to make a decision now. The tunnel ahead of them, the one he deemed would take them closer to the surface, was probably littered with spiders of all sizes and kinds. The path he’d just come from had Deepstalkers waiting for them. The only other way was back to the collapsed Keep and if either creature followed them there, they’d be trapped, with no hope for help or discovery.

 

He finally understood why Anders hated the Deep Roads so much and that realization made Fenris smile, despite their rather dire situation at the moment. It probably didn’t matter which way they went, neither offered a satisfying outlook. Returning to the Keep – or what was left of it – seemed like the best option, but the place was littered with corpses and that wasn’t something he needed a child to see. There was no knowing whether or not helpers would return to the Keep. Fenris didn’t know what was going on in Kirkwall, either. Did the Templars take over? Was Meredith now ruling over the city?

  
Was Varric still alive? Merrill, Isabela, Aveline, Donnic?

 

Did Hawke, Anders, the Warden Commander and Zevran return by now? And if they did, were they still alive? In hiding? Executed on sight? The latter thought made Fenris’ stomach clench painfully.

 

Was there a place to return to at all?

 

“Fenris?” Lianni whispered, still clinging to his leg.

 

The screeches in the distance had stopped. Fenris hoped that meant the Deepstalkers didn’t dare go up this far, but it was more likely they were sneaking up on them right now.

 

“We have to leave,” Fenris murmured and grabbed the little girl, lifting her up once again. Her thin arms wrapped around his neck, as they had hours before.

 

_Make a decision_.

 

Fenris considered the tunnel that most likely led them into a spiders’ nest. While the queen spider usually holed up somewhere deep down and dark, her ‘infantry’ was known to linger close to cave entrances, in hope for easy prey. If a spiderling was this far up, it was hunting. Lianni had proven a nice distraction, but Fenris figured, _hoped_ , it had been on its way to the surface to find prey.

  
Spiders it was then.

 

He started walking in determined strokes, brands lighting up once again to spend a little light in the darkness ahead of them. Lianni gasped in his hold, her head lifting off his shoulder as she marveled at the lyrium lines and swirls.

 

“You is pretty when you glows,” she said.

 

Fenris snorted. “You shouldn’t have run off all on your own,” he told her. “I can’t keep an eye on you if you don’t stay close.”

 

Lianni pouted.

  
“Why did you leave anyway?” Fenris asked. “You were pretty far away from our resting place.”

 

“I heards whispers.”

 

“Whispers?”

 

“Someones whispereds your names,” Lianni explained. “I thoughts maybe a friends.”

 

Fenris glanced at her. “You heard someone whisper my name? Down here?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Did you see anyone?”

 

“A shadows. It wents all the ways up and then I gots lost and found my spider friends.” Again, she pouted and what little hope Fenris had that maybe, someone was looking for him, had gotten close to _finding_ him, vanished instantly.

 

“Trust me, Lianni, that spider was not a friend.” Fenris couldn’t help but smile. “You’re too young to understand the dangers of the Deep Roads, just yet.”

 

“What is Deep Roads?”

 

“That’s where we are right now. It’s a tunnel system, stretching across all of Thedas, underground. Dwarves built them once.”

 

“What’s dwarves?” Lianni asked curiously.

 

“Really small people. And they stay small all their lives. Hairy, too.”

 

“Icky.”

 

Fenris chuckled. “They are not so bad. One of my closest friends is a dwarf. He can tell really nice stories. If we can find him, maybe he’ll tell you one.”

 

Lianni beamed at that. “I likes stories!”

 

“So do I.”

 

It had gotten noticeably colder around them and Fenris stopped walking for a moment, filling his lungs with much clearer, cool air. He even believed he could smell rain.

 

“Why are we stoppings?” Lianni asked.

 

“Because I needed to take a deep breath,” Fenris explained. “Do you smell it? The air is getting better.”

 

Lianni wrinkled her nose and sniffed at the air, causing Fenris to chuckle again. Eventually, the little girl shrugged and with a smirk, Fenris continued to walk. Keeping his brands alight was going to tire him out again fast, but it was better than the pitch black darkness they would have to walk through otherwise.

 

“So, how did you meet your auntie?” Fenris asked quietly. “Did you meet her in your dreams?”

 

“Mmm-hmmm,” Lianni confirmed with a nod. “The place was so scarys.”

 

“The Fade usually is,” Fenris agreed. “Unless someone decides to make it more comfortable for you.”

 

A rattling sound in the dark made him pause and he quickly put a hand over Lianni’s mouth when she was just about to answer. “Hush,” he muttered, while his elven ears listened intently. The rattling sounded again and Fenris immediately realized it wasn’t only coming from one source. He snarled when he realized they were surrounded.

 

“Lianni,” he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. “There are a lot of spiders around us.”

 

The little girl gasped against his palm.

 

“I need you to hold on as tight as you can and you cannot let go. Understood?”

 

A small nod.

 

Slowly, Fenris lifted the little girl up some more, her arms wrapping more tightly around his neck, almost tight enough to cut off oxygen. Fenris swallowed against the uncomfortable pressure on his throat; it reminded him of what a slave collar had felt like, something he had worn for years until the Fog Warriors managed to get it off him. Shaking off the unwanted memory, he secured his hold on the little girl’s body and silently counted to three, gathering what strength he still had left.

 

Then, Fenris began to run as fast as he could, with the weight of his sword against his back and Lianni’s weight in his arms. Almost immediately, the rattling around them increased and from the corner of his eyes, he saw shadows flitting through the darkness, small ones, bigger ones. The spiderling had indeed found his fellows and not all of them were as easy to take on as the spiderling would have been.

 

A massive figure jumped right into their way and Fenris only barely managed to dodge the poisonous spider, its fangs snatching at him. He could feel them graze his arm and growled, but did not allow himself to be distracted by it as he hurried on, hoping to find a spot where he could easily slay them all if he had to. Lianni screamed at the sight of the huge spider, face burying against his shoulder.

 

Something wet and sticky hit his right leg and Fenris bit his lips to keep in a shout. Almost immediately, he felt nauseated, a familiar feeling from the times in the past, where they had encountered spiders. The poisonous spit seemed to burn through his leggings and right into his skin.

 

A string of Tevene curses escaped through gritted teeth when his leg threatened to give out. His brands lit up even more and Fenris could feel the lyrium embedded in his skin, the dark magic Danarius had gifted him with, starting to fight against the poison and increase his stamina. It wouldn’t last, he knew, but it gave him enough strength to keep running. Fenris was by no means invincible, but Danarius had made sure his ‘little wolf’ would not be easily defeated, no matter what he found himself attacked by.

 

A small, narrow tunnel appeared to his right. Fenris considered its width within a second – enough for him to slip into, definitely too narrow for the huge spiders to follow them. Within two seconds, Fenris realized this was their chance for escape and dashed into the narrow passage, tightening his hold on Lianni when he stumbled over small rocks, stubbing the toes on his left foot in the process. Behind them, he heard the infuriated rattling and hissing of the spiders trying to squeeze themselves into the narrow passage and failing.

 

Fenris slowed his steps and dared a glance back. The poisonous spider was blocking the passage, three of its legs flailing helplessly and preventing his smaller fellows from following their prey. Against his chest, Lianni was sobbing, tiny hands gripping the hair on the back of his neck tightly. It took some effort, prying the little girl’s hands off him. Eventually, Fenris managed and carefully sat her on the ground. Teary-eyed and terrified, she glanced up at him.

 

“Wait here,” Fenris told her.

 

“Don’t go aways,” Lianni begged quietly.

 

Fenris reached out and ruffled her matted hair carefully as she sobbed.

 

_Will you promise me something?_

_Never leave._

 

“I won’t,” Fenris promised as he drew his sword with his free hand. “Stay here. Close your eyes and do not open them until I tell you to.”

 

Lianni looked doubtful at that.

 

“You have to trust me,” he told her firmly. _I am not leaving_.

 

Fenris didn’t wait for her reaction. Sword drawn, body phasing, he charged at the spiders, effortlessly cutting through the huge one blocking the passage with one stroke. It splattered the ground, causing its fellows to draw back for a moment, surprised at the sudden fightback, before attacking Fenris, one after the other, as he remained right at the entrance to the narrow passage, making good use of the advantages it provided in this battle that would have been forlorn otherwise. Fenris watched their legs and fangs going right through him, leaving him feeling nauseated even more while his right hand swung the sword, cutting through bodies, his left reaching out now and then to tear out organs and snap spines. The magical defenses Danarius had left inside his body weakened slowly and he felt his brands pulse in tune with the poison slowly seeping into his blood stream and speeding up his heartbeat.

 

And then it was over suddenly. Panting, breathless and weak, Fenris watched the small group of remaining spiders flee back into the darkness, rattling and still furious, yet aware that the elf had the upper hand this time. Leaning on his sword, Fenris bent forward, panting harshly and willed his legs to stop from shaking as he tried to compose himself, to catch his breath. His head was spinning and the previously erratic heartbeat was beginning to slow dangerously. The poison had begun to spread throughout his entire system.

 

Fenris staggered back to where Lianni was waiting for him. The little girl lay curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around her legs, eyes squeezed shut as she quietly sobbed into the darkness. Slowly, he knelt down next to her and extended a trembling hand to touch against her cheek.

 

“It’s over,” he murmured. “You can open your eyes now.”

 

Teary-eyed still, Lianni glanced up at him. Fenris held out his hand for her and with little reluctance, she took it, letting him pull her back on his feet and down the narrow tunnel.

 

The further they went, the more familiar the place looked to Fenris. The stony ground gave way to a red-tiled floor, the grey stone walls turning smooth and auburn-colored, decorated with runes. A short laugh escaped Fenris’ lips as relief flooded him.

  
“What’s wrongs?” Lianni asked.

 

“I know where we are,” Fenris murmured. His voice was sounding as weak as his body felt by now. “I’ve been here before.”

 

It had been one of his least favorite missions that he had accompanied Hawke on and he remembered how suspicious he’d been of Anders then. When Templars had started to disappear under mysterious circumstances and they had eventually managed to find the young Templar named Keran, captured by a blood mage named Tarohne, Fenris had wondered if Anders had known her before they encountered her as a group. Just like Anders, she had an incredible hate for Meredith and Templars and had formed a vicious plan to turn Templars into abominations. A thought that should have certainly entertained Anders, seeing as Templars hunted down mages and claimed them to be abominations in the making, much like Fenris used to in the past. Instead, Anders had actually helped free the Templar and checked him for possession, before agreeing to let Keran leave.

 

It wasn’t until much later that they found out about Tarohne’s hidden, enchanted books hidden in and around Kirkwall. He remembered Hawke leading them to Anders’ clinic to ask the mage for help as they retrieved those and Anders had agreed immediately, making Fenris wonder if the mage was really so much against blood magic as he claimed to be or if ulterior motives drove him and the demon inside him. In the end, Anders had proven trustworthy once more, as he helped Hawke destroy the books.

 

One of the hiding places of these enchanted books had been this very thaig he was now wandering. An abandoned, nameless thaig that had been easily accessible from the west end of Sundermount. It was not too spacious either and Fenris did not expect any trouble, seeing as they had cleared out the place before. Twice.

  
Sundermount meant they were not too far from the Dalish Camp, if the clan had not moved on after the recent events in Kirkwall. Hope began to blossom inside Fenris, once again.

 

The corridor ended at a wide open door, exactly the way they had left it, Fenris mused. The thaig’s central room came into view and he closed the door they had just passed through firmly behind them, hoping it would keep away unwanted visitors at least for a while.

 

The fireplace in the center of the room surprisingly still spent light and warmth, the charcoal glowing dimly and casting shadows on the faces of two stone golems hovering in the corners on the opposite side of the room. A third golem lay shattered on the ground, having fallen victim to one of Anders’ defensive spells when they had fought shades and rage demons.

 

Three more doors led away from the central room and as Fenris’ knees buckled and forced him to the ground, he tried to remember which of the doors directly led back to the surface, an easy, dangerless passage. There was a rock on that path that Varric had pointed out looked like a mabari. Fenris remembered Varric and Hawke inspecting it for a few minutes and laughing about it.

 

“Fenris?”

 

He glanced up tiredly, finding a pair of big green eyes staring back worriedly. Lianni was biting her bottom lip, her tiny hand still holding his tightly. Fenris hadn’t even noticed until now how labored his breathing was, a layer of cold sweat on his forehead. There was a metallic taste on his tongue, his stomach cramping now that his body had a moment’s rest and a choked moan escaped Fenris’ lips.

 

They were so close – he had to make it for only a little while longer.

 

“Lianni,” he rasped. “I need you to do something for me.”

 

She nodded.

 

“Do you know what a mabari is? A dog?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Good. I want you to open each of the other three doors and check what’s behind them. If you see a path with a rock that looks like a dog, come back and tell me which door it is behind.”

 

Lianni made a face and looked around with a  small whimper.

 

“It is safe here,” Fenris assured, although he was aware that behind each door, an unpleasant surprise could be awaiting them. “Worry not. I need to rest for a moment. Can you do this for me?”

 

Still biting her bottom lip, Lianni swallowed hard and then straightened her small back, a determined expression on her little face that made Fenris smile. She hesitated for another moment, then slowly let go of Fenris’ hand and tip-toed toward the door left of them.

 

The moment he heard the door creak and open, Fenris closed his eyes and slumped forward, shaking arms bracing against the tiled floor. He was beginning to feel feverish. It brought back memories of the first time he’d been poisoned by a spider and how he had stubbornly marched on until he couldn’t anymore, not wanting to show any sign of illness or weakness. It hadn’t been too long after he’d met Hawke and the man had been furious with him. Fenris had instinctively cowered on the floor, faced with Hawke’s anger, even though the man had meant well. Anger directed at him had always meant punishment in the years before coming to Kirkwall and meeting Hawke, and Fenris had been surprised when his ‘punishment’ had been several healing potions and antidotes forced down his throat, since he’d refused to be healed by the mage.

 

The door was closed and tiny feet shuffled across the tiled floor toward the next, opposite of him. Fenris marveled at the feeling of pride over Lianni being brave for him. They barely knew each other and still, he felt connected to her on a level he could not understand.

 

“Fenris! Fenris, I sees a dogs!” Lianni piped up excitedly.

 

Fenris gave a grunt in response and told himself to get up, one last time. Instead, his arms gave in and he found himself drop to the floor, sighing when his cheek came to rest against the cool tiles and the world turned dark around him.


	9. NINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the block got me with that one.  
> I realize this chapter might be a little confusing...or maybe not. Bear with me?
> 
> Many thanks to HeroMaggie for the virtual cookies and encouraging pats.

_A warm hand cupped his cheek and a soft chuckle reached Fenris’ ear as he leaned into it with a sigh. Toes curled against clean, soft sheets, his ear twitching when the hand moved up a little, stimulating it._

_“Ah, my little wolf,” Danarius murmured. “What have you done now?”_

_“Gone to the Void, it would seem,” Fenris replied in kind. “It’s the only explanation why I have to deal with you again.”_

_“And ruined all my hard work.”_

_Emerald greens snapped open and Fenris snarled at the magister leaning over him, a smug grin on his lips._

_“Now, now, where are your manners?” Danarius chided, the grin leaving his lips._

_“Take your hand off,” Fenris growled and moved his head away._

_“Still rebellious, I see.” Danarius pulled away and got up, while Fenris remained on the bed, gaze lifting to the white-washed ceiling above. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, to get away but Fenris had no energy left. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. He had always expected that in death, he’d return to the nightmare he’d escaped from whilst alive._

_“I would hope you’ve learned your lesson, Fenris,” Danarius spoke up. “It saddens me, seeing the living enchanted weapon I’ve created with my own hands being defeated by something so nefarious as spider poison. Had you not turned your back on me, you would have been safe. You need me to maintain your health and abilities.”_

_“I don’t need you,” Fenris argued. “If that means I will be left with no one maintaining the magic poured in my markings, so be it.” He lifted one hand, gazing at the lyrium lines curiously. “And neither did you need me. You made that very clear.”_

_Danarius laughed at that. “Ah, still sour over it, aren’t you, my sweet little wolf?” He sighed. “You know Tevinter’s society as well as I do, Fenris. You knew there was no –“_

_“Spare me your lies, Danarius,” the elf snarled. “You’ve been poisoning me with them for as long as I can remember. You will not continue to do so.”_

_“All this, your hate, the loss of your affection for me, your escape, over a single moment on Seheron? Because I brought her with me?” the magister asked gently. “A spark of jealousy that brought us both grief for many years? You killed her. You should realize how useless she was.”_

_“She was not useless while she warmed your bed,” Fenris countered bitterly. “Like so many others.”_

_“Like you, you mean.”_

_The elf huffed, hand dropping on the bed as he fixed a glare on the magister._

_Danarius shook his head. “So tell me, Fenris, how much did your experiences made during your so-called freedom differ from the ones made in Tevinter?” Slowly, the magister approached the bed. “You escaped from the mages you claim to hate so much, only to find yourself in the bed of another. And what did that do for you? He left you, because his duties were more important to him than you.”_

_Fenris narrowed his eyes at the man and finally, his body remembered how to move. He sat up swiftly, then crouched on the soft mattress, glancing around. He remembered this room. One of Danarius’ many guest rooms, at his home in Minrathous. Sometimes, if Fenris had pleased his former master, he would allow him the comfort of such a room instead of the little cell the elf would call his own, where he’d be locked away for the night, unless Danarius required his presence, guarding the magister’s chambers._

_“Shut your mouth,” Fenris growled at him._

_“You knew you wouldn’t see him again,” Danarius continued, stopping as his knees bumped against the bed’s sturdy frame. “Not only did he leave you behind, little wolf, but also something potentially dangerous that destroyed the rat hole you called home and now cost you your life. Maybe he returned in the meanwhile. Do you think Anders is mourning for his pathetic elven slave, that gave himself so willingly to him?”_

_“I said, shut your mouth,” the elf snarled and charged, gripping the collar of Danarius’ robe tightly and pulling him close enough that the tips of their noses almost touched._

_“Remember your place, slave,” Danarius hissed._

_“You cannot intimidate me anymore,” Fenris sneered back at him. “Nothing you could say now will taint the memories I hold sacred, the experiences I’ve made. Even if what you say were true, death will ensure I’ll never know. I’ve got nothing left to lose, you pathetic **fuck**.”_

_Danarius’ hand smacked across his face and Fenris marveled how that made his skin burn as it reddened, his tight grip on the magister’s collar faltering for a moment. One not supposed to feel anything in the Fade. His markings lit in response and Fenris growled, ready to strike Danarius down a second time, only to release Danarius with a pained grunt instead, cringing on the bed when the long forgotten pain his markings used to cause returned, full force._

_“I created you,” Danarius told him, almost gently. “I will forever hold your leash, little wolf. You’re mine.”_

_“I don’t belong to anyone but myself,” Fenris gritted out. “Or to someone of my choosing.”_

_  
“Still stubborn, I see.” Danarius shook his head and gripped Fenris’ hair, forcefully pulling the elf’s head up. Fenris snarled but otherwise managed to hide the discomfort, the pain that rough treatment caused. “You were born a slave, Fenris. There is no other fate awaiting you. Not with me, not with the man you hold so dear. Not anywhere in Thedas.”_

Breathe, love.

 

_Danarius frowned at Fenris and the elf stilled, eyes widening in surprise and disbelief._

 

I’m here.

 

_“Anders,” Fenris whispered._

 

_A bright light flooded the room and Fenris squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Danarius let go of him and he slumped on the bed, grimacing at the pain in his scalp. Warmth followed the light and Fenris gasped when he recognized it. It felt like Anders’ healing magic and yet it was much stronger, almost intimidating and he heard the magister suck in his breath._

_Compassion._

_Fenris squinted at the light, only barely able to make out anything but a bright, misshaped being. It was not alone, it was accompanied by something else, something that slowly rose inside Fenris, and spread warmth through his entire form. Hope. He felt a heartbeat not his own, steady yet frantic, in his chest and something pulled on him, dragged him away from the place the Fade had created for him._

“You will not die on me, now that I finally found you, blighted elf.”

 

A second beat joined the steady, frantic one and Fenris realized it was his own heart, trying to match the pace of the one that was not. Something solid rested against his sternum. A hand, pulling him tightly against an equally solid, warm form that was lying on the cold ground with him.

 

Healing magic poured into the elf, attacking the poison in Fenris’ blood. Fenris’ form went rigid in the embrace, lyrium lines flaring up brightly in reaction. Poison was purged from organs, from blood and his chest heaved before Fenris began to vomit violently. It felt like fire was burning in his stomach, in his limbs and he almost panicked with the urge to get it out of his body.

 

Compassion’s aura retreated as the elf’s body continued to force the poison out of its system. There was an arm slung across the elf’s middle to hold him close, a free hand petting Fenris’ shock of white hair soothingly.

  
“Breathe, love,” a gentle voice murmured. “I’m here. I’ve got you. I love you.”

 

Fenris felt tears burn in his eyes, not from the violent retching, which was slowly receding to choked gasps; it was the relief, the joy over hearing that voice. The voice belonging to the man he loved, the man who’d returned to him.

 

His body relaxed against the mage’s warm one and he felt Anders nuzzle the back of his neck. “I love you so much,” Anders whispered.

 

One of Fenris’ hands lifted to cover Anders’ that was resting on his belly, fingers entwining just before exhaustion took him.

 

~*~

 

When consciousness briefly found Fenris again, he was moving. A cool breeze caressed over his face, clean and smelling of wood. He could hear birds singing and the sound of heavy boots on sandy ground. With his eyes still closed, Fenris sucked in a few deep breaths, and coughed when his chest still felt too tight.

 

“Easy, Fenris,” a familiar voice told him gently just as a cool hand was placed on his forehead, fingertips caressing gently.

 

“Sleep,” he heard Anders murmur. “Rest.”

 

“Will he be alright?” the familiar voice asked the mage and finally, Fenris recognized it. Hawke.

 

“It was a pretty close call,” Anders murmured. He could hear the pain in the mage’s voice and Fenris wished he had enough energy to reach out for him but all he found himself able to do is be carried. By Hawke, no doubt. “I’ll continue to do what I can, but what he really needs now is a bed, water and something to eat.”

 

“And a bath. He reeks of spider intestines.” Varric.

 

In his half-unconscious state, Fenris frowned. Someone was missing.

 

Dry lips opened and a strangled sound escaped them. The hand on his forehead moved gently across his face, a thumb dragging over his parted lips. “Shh, love,” Anders said. “It’s alright. Don’t speak. Just sleep.”

 

_Lianni._

 

Where was the little girl?

 

“Anders…” Fenris groaned out.

 

“I’m here, Fenris.”

 

Fenris felt Hawke slow his steps, eventually coming to a halt completely. Soft, warm lips pressed against his. They tasted salty. Tears.

 

“…girl…” Fenris breathed out.

 

“Girl?” Hawke asked, confused.

 

“ _Sleep_ , Fenris,” Anders said once again and caressed over the elf’s face. It almost sounded like a command, Fenris thought. A prickling sensation, his body relaxing in Hawke’s arms. The last thing Fenris was aware of was Hawke starting to move again.

 

 

Hawke adjusted his hold on the elf’s limp form as he walked, relief urging him to walk as fast as he could with the additional weight, Anders right by his side, his eyes never leaving Fenris.

 

“You shouldn’t have run off like that,” Hawke felt the need to point out once again and he could see Anders’ suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.  “What if Darkspawn had attacked you?”

 

“Look at him and tell me I had the time to wait for the rest of you to get ready to leave for the Deep Roads,” Anders muttered.

 

“Afraid I have to agree with Blondie,” Varric said. “It was stupid, though.”

 

“I have a reputation for doing stupid things, in case you didn’t notice.”

 

“Oh, I did notice, no worries.”

 

“What was he talking about?” Hawke asked. “I wasn’t aware poisoning can cause hallucinations.”

 

“Dehydration might, though. Maker knows when he last drank something.” Again, Anders reached out and ran a hand through Fenris’ matted white hair. Hawke noticed the closed-off expression on the mage’s face.

 

“There was no girl, right?” he asked.

 

Anders plastered a smile on his face as his fingers continue to play with Fenris’ hair. “No girl, Hawke. Why would there be a little girl in the Deep Roads?”

 

Behind them, Varric lifted an eyebrow.


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for any glaring mistakes, my editor is on her well-deserved vacation xD

Fenris stirred when a soft, wet cloth was dragged over his face, the cold dampness followed by the feel of a warm hand cupping his cheek gently. A thumb stroked along his cheekbone soothingly before the warm hand withdrew and the cloth returned. The elf grunted, displeased, nose wrinkling when the cloth ran over his forehead, then down, across his eyes, nose and lips.

 

There was a palm resting against his chest, applying careful pressure. Fingertips massaged lightly as healing magic flowed from them and right into his exhausted body, soothing joint aches, sore muscles and his insides that still seemed in a twist. Fenris tasted bile in his mouth and swallowed with a grimace.

 

“Here,” he heard Anders say gently and felt a water skin nudge against his lips. “Drink. You have to drink, love.”

 

Fenris moaned when cool water filled his dry mouth and poured down his throat. He drank greedily while one of Anders’ hands wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him in place and caressing him gently. Fenris drank until the skin was empty, still feeling thirsty when Anders pulled it away.

 

He swallowed hard and rasped, “You’re back.”

 

“Yes,” Anders replied simply. Fenris heard the chortling of the water skin being refilled and only then became aware that he was sitting waist deep in water, naked, propped up against something solid that had been covered by something soft to avoid discomfort.

 

“You came back,” Fenris murmured. “You came back to me.”

 

“Of course I did.” The water skin returned to his lips and Fenris drank until his stomach protested from too much. With a grunt, he turned his head away and listened to Anders move to put away the skin before warm hands cupped his face, cradling it gently.

  
“Open your eyes,” Anders murmured.

 

It took some effort but eventually, Fenris willed his eyes to open, squinting at the bright daylight that caused spots to dance before them. His vision took incredibly long to focus but when it did, he found a pair of amber eyes regarding him with a mix of emotions.

 

“You came back to me,” Fenris repeated.

 

Anders smiled at that. “Do not linger, do not get distracted. Do not pause until you’re back in my arms,” he murmured and Fenris’ lips quirked up a fraction at being quoted. That night seemed so long ago now. “I didn’t,” the mage continued, the smile leaving his face, “yet I arrived too late. I’m so sorry, Fenris. I should have never left.”

 

Finally used to the light, emerald greens opened fully and took in the sight of the mage. Anders looked as exhausted as Fenris felt. He was naked, too, kneeling in front of him in a stream, his hair let down, as Fenris liked it the most. A thick coat had been draped over the rock Fenris sat propped up against. He wasn’t sure where they were but his ears caught noises in the distance.

 

“You’re not yet in my arms, mage,” Fenris murmured and Anders made a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob before carefully moving closer. Despite the protest of sore muscles, Fenris lifted his arms and wrapped them around his mage, pulling him closer still until the blond was almost straddling his lap. Anders trembled in his hold, lips ghosting over Fenris’ cheek and the elf turned his head to catch them with his own. His chapped lips brushed over Anders’ soft, warm ones and Fenris made a face at how it had to feel for the mage.

 

When Anders pressed his mouth against Fenris’ almost greedily, it became obvious the mage couldn’t care less about the state of the elf’s lips. Their kiss was passionate, heated despite their exhausted states and told ‘I love you’ and ‘I missed you’ and ‘Happy to have you back’ better than they could have done speaking the words.

 

Eventually, the mage pulled back and Fenris felt healing magic flow into his body once again. “Better finish this,” Anders murmured with a smile and Fenris allowed himself to relax. He felt it again, a sensation of two hearts beating in his chest where he knew it was not possible. Their rhythms adjusted to one another within moments. He recalled having felt something like this before.

 

“You tied your life force to mine,” he murmured.

 

“Other way round, actually, but the idea is the same, regardless,” Anders replied. “You were…pretty far gone by the time I found you.” His voice cracked a little and Fenris gripped the mage’s shoulders tightly, reassuringly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to heal you fast enough.”

 

“You sound apologetic,” Fenris observed.

  
“I know you trust me, but this is the second time I’ve done this without your consent.”

 

“There is no need to apologize for it, Anders.”

 

“I – alright.”

 

Fenris felt his insides settle finally and moaned in relief.

 

“You’ll be exhausted for a few more days. Some things can only be fixed by a couple hours sleep and food,” Anders told him. “Which is what you’ll do in a moment. I just really had to get you cleaned up first.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Fenris’ chest. “I’ll remove the ties now. It might feel a little weird. Oh, you already knew that. I’m sorry, babbling…”

 

“No.” Fenris reached for Anders’ hand that was just coming to rest against his sternum and gripped the wrist tightly. “Don’t.”

 

Anders looked at him quizzically. “What?”

 

“Leave them.” He loosened his grip a fraction and ran a thumb over Anders’ wrist. “It’s not going to cause any damage, is it.”

 

“Well, no, not that I know of at least, but…”

 

“Then leave them.” Fenris reached for the mage’s other hand and squeezed it. “Leave them.”

 

Anders frowned at the elf. “Why?”

 

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Fenris explained. “It’s…reassuring.”

 

The mage huffed out a laugh at that and leaned in to press another kiss to the elf’s lips. “There will come a time when I _have_ to remove them, though,” Anders reminded him.

 

“That decision is mine to make, fool mage, not yours.”

 

“For once, no, it’s really not, Fenris. You can’t make a decision like that for us both.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Anders, but decided now was not the time to argue. “How did you find me?” he asked instead.

 

“You can thank Donnic and Aveline for that. When we first returned to Kirkwall, I went to the Keep to find you.” Anders took a deep breath. “I found one of your gauntlets and the Keep…” He shook his head. “It was gone. And you with it. There was no telling if you went down with it, if you managed to get away and where to look for you, or if you were even still alive. Hawke and Varric made me get some rest. Donnic and a few Guardsmen began searching for survivors. They…took the long climb down into that gaping hole that was once Viscount’s Keep and one of Donnic’s men found your other gauntlet as well as a trail of blood and footprints that told him you were there and walked away from the place.”

 

Fenris looked at Anders curiously.

 

“When we accompanied Hawke for the Deep Roads expedition all those years ago, I had taken my time to study the map and remembered parts of this area. I went up to the Keep, climbed down myself and started from there.” Anders smiled. “Eventually I remembered your markings react to my magic and vice versa, so I used that to find you. I’m glad you took the right path and ended up in that thaigh.”

 

“You went all by yourself?” Fenris’ eyebrows shot up.

 

“Ah, not really. I just didn’t wait for them to catch up with me. Mael studied his copy of the map while they were getting ready to help me find you. Hawke and Varric marched up to Sundermount and took the exit there leading to the thaig. I was told Mael and Zevran followed the path I took. I expect them to join us here soon.”

 

“Here?”

 

“The Dalish camp, love.”

 

Fenris arched his neck a little and looked around. He could not remember this particular stream from their previous visits but as he glanced past the rock he was leaning against, he could see a familiar group of trees and behind them, the spire of one of the tents the Dalish used.

 

“I had hoped to make it here before –“ Fenris paused, suddenly agitated and turned his head back to Anders. “Mage…there was a little girl. Did you see her?”

 

Anders frowned at him. “A little girl?”

 

“I met her while trying to find a way out of the Deep Roads. A little elven girl. A mageling from the Circle. Her name is Lianni. She was with me when I lost consciousness. Have you seen her? Any sign of her?”

 

The mage shook his head slowly. “No, Fenris. No little girl. No sign of anyone else but you when I found you.” He paused. “Are you sure there was one? You were wounded, exhausted and dehydrated. Maybe –“

 

“I had several broken bones and wounds after the fall,” Fenris all but snarled. “As is to be expected. I assume you found no such injuries on me?”

 

Anders looked – irritated at the question, which made Fenris frown in response.

 

“She healed me,” Fenris explained. “Lianni is the reason I even got this far before that blighted spider poisoned me. I doubt I imagined her presence.”

 

“A little elven girl with magic abilities?” Anders lifted an eyebrow, but the irritated expression on his face did not dissipate. “You do know mages don’t awaken until a certain age and if you say she is little –“

 

“I am aware of that,” Fenris interrupted. “But it’s true and I did not imagine her, Anders. She was there. She must still be in the Deep Roads.”

 

“If she is, she is dead by now. You know what lurks down there, Fenris.”

 

Green eyes widened at the mage in surprise.

 

“And you will _not_ look for her,” Anders added. “You will recover and then we will have to decide what to do about the mess Kirkwall is right now. Our mansion burned down. Scared people are taking up the space in my clinic. We will have to –“

 

“We are talking about a child here, Anders.”

 

“A _mage_ child,” the blond countered. “I know you can overlook the fact that I am a mage but I wasn’t aware you’re suddenly fond of mages in general, children or not.”

  
“I am not _overlooking_ anything at all, Anders, I am aware of what you are,” Fenris growled. “I merely decided that _who_ you are is more important to me. And that child in particular saved my life. I promised I wouldn’t leave her behind.”

 

“You’re in no state to return to the Deep Roads right now,” Anders argued gently. “Maybe Mael and Zevran will find her. _You_ need sleep, after you ate something. I heard the Dalish caught a few fat rabbits.” The mage slowly stood. “I’ll get our clothes.”

 

Fenris’ frown deepened. “Anders,” he said lowly. “What are you not telling me? It is not like you to leave behind defenseless people in dangerous places.”

 

“It is when I protect what’s important to _me_ ,” Anders stated matter-of-factly. “Which means _you_. I thought you were _dead_ , Fenris. Do you have any idea what--?” His voice cracked and the mage just stopped, shaking his head.

 

“Mage…” Fenris’ features softened. “I know.”

 

“No you don’t.” Again, Anders shook his head. “You _don’t_ , Fenris,” he whispered. “But I do ask you to understand why I’m against going back, even if I owe her as much as you do, maybe more so, for saving your life after you took that fall.”

 

With a grunt, Fenris forced himself to get up. His knees shook as he pushed himself up, one arm braced against the rock for support. Despite the mage having healed him, Fenris still felt weak. He wondered how many hours, or days, he’d actually been in the Deep Roads, trying to get out.

 

Anders eyed the elf warily, a pained expression on his face. “Don’t get up just yet, Fenris. Save your energy, you –“

 

“Tell me,” Fenris demanded calmly. The mage blinked at him. “I can feel the turmoil,” the elf explained. “Inside you. I feel I can even sense _Vengeance,_ ready to snarl and bite. It is unsettling. Tell me what it is I don’t know.”

 

The mage seemed indecisive for a moment and Fenris braced himself for an argument.

 

“You’re all I have,” Anders eventually admitted quietly.  “Losing you would destroy me, Fenris. I have nothing else. Just you and what you are willing to give me. And I need that, like I need air to breathe. I need to wake up in the morning and know you’re still there.” He shook his head, lips quirking into a half-smile. “And I do realize how pathetic and sad that sounds, but it’s the truth.”

 

“Mage.” Fenris held out one hand, an unreadable expression on his face. “Come here.”

 

Anders took the hand. Their fingers entwined immediately and Fenris pulled him close, his other hand grabbing the back of the mage’s neck and almost forcefully pulled Anders’ head down for a kiss. The small noise of protest from the mage was stifled against Fenris’ lips; it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hard, claiming and full of promises.

 

Fenris released his hold on Anders’ neck and let the same hand trail down the mage’s back, getting reacquainted with soft skin and cicatrized flesh before cupping a firm cheek, kneading it. A low, appreciative moan from the mage that Fenris swallowed greedily.

 

A slender hand cupped his cheek and Anders gentled their kiss then before breaking it with a soft gasp and a smile.

 

“As appealing as the idea is, we are both in absolutely no condition to…” he chuckled and Fenris grunted in agreement. He swayed a little when he took a step back and Anders grabbed his arm to steady him. “Let’s get you dressed and into a bed, love,” the mage suggested.

 

“You should get some sleep as well,” Fenris murmured. His eyelids felt so heavy now.

 

“I will. Next to you,” Anders promised with another gentle, yet chaste kiss. “Right where I belong.”

 

~*~

 

“Ah, you’re sulking with me.”

 

With a smirk, Zevran lowered the map and glanced around the thaig, nose wrinkling at the sour smell of vomit on the ground.

 

“Pardon?” Mael asked after taking a long sip from his water skin. “Why would I be sulking with you, Zevran?”

 

“You weren’t very chatty during our entire trip. Took away a lot of the usual fun.”

 

“I’ve never been a chatty person,” Mael pointed out. “One would think you figured that out years ago, Zev.”

 

“Awww.” Zevran pursed his lips and folded the map. “This is about Hawke, yes?”

 

Mael snorted. “The only thing that would possibly make me sour about you and Hawke is the fact that it cut short my sleep.” He tilted his head and smirked at Zevran. “Not like I’d have any say about whom you take to your bed, my friend.”

 

Finding this thaig had been a surprise. For Mael, it had been easy to follow Anders, their taint calling for each other, thrumming in his veins and guiding him until they had ended in this thaig not yet marked on his map. Oghren had always said there are probably more, thaigs even dwarves had forgotten about or abandoned for one reason or the other. Mael could not see anything majorly dangerous. There were destroyed golems that probably had guarded this place in the past before someone or something either saw no use for them anymore or had to strike them down in defense. There were burn marks on the inside of the door they had entered through. The fact that Anders was now nowhere to be found, but had been here recently – and not alone, Mael figured by the stains on the ground – told him the mage was probably familiar with this place.

 

Behind him, the Antivan hummed thoughtfully. “He’s very…interesting? Attractive. A little headstrong maybe. And I must admit I do have a thing for his rather big hands, yes?”

 

Mael’s pointy ears twitched. “You like him.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“No, I mean, you _like_ him, Zevran.”

 

Zevran frowned. “I am not even sure I know what that means.”

 

Mael offered a crooked smile in response. “I suppose you wouldn’t, would you.” He sighed. “Did you mark this place on the map?”

 

“I did indeed.” Zevran nodded at the open door ahead. “I suppose we’re headed this way?”

 

“According to the map, there should be an exit nearby.”

  
“We could also just follow the sound of sobs.”

 

“The sound of –?“ Mael frowned and fell silent. Zevran smirked as the Warden Commander listened intently, green eyes locking gaze with the Antivan’s.

 

It was a distant sound, barely audible if not for their keen elven ears and the echo. Mael followed it, Zevran at his heels, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

 

The path ahead led them to a rocky area.  Mael paused briefly at a dog-shaped rock that seemed to salute them and was briefly reminded of the mabari he’d met in Ostagar, that had later found them and been a wonderful companion since. Mael had never been one for having a pet, least of all a mabari, but Bandit had fought against the Blight as bravely as all of them. He occasionally found himself missing that slobbery face.

 

He wondered if Velanna fed him enough.

 

“Mael,” Zevran whispered, one slender hand grabbing the Warden Commander’s shoulder to stop him. The blond nodded his head to the right and Mael frowned at the tiny creature seated on the ground, knees drawn up. Small shoulders shook with each sob, the face hidden beneath a curtain of matted blond hair.

  
“Creators have _mercy_ ,” it escaped Mael, louder than he had planned and the little girl only a few feet away from them flinched, green eyes wide and filled with tears as she stared at them.

 

~*~

 

_Amber eyes were wide with disbelief as Anders stared at the tiny creature leaning over Fenris’ motionless body. His hand tightened around his staff when the little girl lifted her head to look at him. There was no surprise in her eyes upon seeing him, here, in the real world, not the Fade, where they had first met. Small hands were clutching one of Fenris’ arms and tear tracks stained her red-spotted cheeks as she looked at him._

_  
It was not uncommon that people, while they slept, would meet in the Fade, though certainly rare. Usually, one would find themselves in a set-up, created by demons or curious Fade spirits, wanting to learn more about the mortals. Anders had met many people in his ‘dreams’, though they usually were created to either make him feel at ease or terrify him._

_Anders had never heard of anyone actually meeting someone from their dreams._

_  
“How?” was all he managed to get out._

_“I did nots means to,” the little girl whispered._

_“What did you do?” Anders asked, panic rising inside him._

_“I wanteds to brings him back.”_

_Anders looked at Fenris’ motionless form, the lyrium brands pulsing weakly as his body fought. They had been what led him into the right direction, following the weak echo of the lyrium song, as he had done in the past, on occasion. That it had been so weak had already been concerning enough and it had made him speed up his steps until his lungs burned from exhaustion._

_The elf’s fingers twitched, ragged breaths that weakened with each passing minute escaping pale lips. A spark of searching magic had Anders’ chest clench in fear. Fenris’ body was fighting a strong poison._

_“Bring him back.”_

_“To yous.”_

_The little girl stood, once again all shy, like she had been the last time they had met, hands wringing together nervously. Why was she nervous? Anders was not exactly known to be an intimidating person unless he was using magic during battles. People trusted him._

_Amber eyes narrowed at the tiny girl. “Who are you?” he asked as he took a step forward, needing to reach Fenris before it was too late._

_She bit her lip and looked up to him. Anders felt a tug, a pull, at the core of his being and a chill ran down his spine._

**_Anders. Friend_ ** _._

_“No,” Anders breathed out and swung his staff, a fireball gathering at the head. The little girl made a small, distressed sound and took a cautious step back. “Get away from him!” Anders snarled at her._

_“I dids not do anythings,” she protested weakly._

_  
“Get. Away. From him!” Instead of casting the fireball, Anders send a quick lightning bolt that hit right before her naked feet, making her yelp. “You will not have him.”_

_Vengeance roared to life inside him. Anders felt Fade power crack his skin as Vengeance clawed and snarled inside his head. The little girl’s green eyes widened at him in terror, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks._

_“Please…” she whispered._

_“ **Go away**!” Vengeance boomed. “We did not fight you to have you return in such disguise, demon!”_

_“I’m not a demon!” she cried and for a moment, Anders faltered, Vengeance retreating to allow control. Too often, he’d heard and even spoken that argument in the past, had defended this against anyone who called them monster or abomination._

_Vengeance nudged forward once again and Anders raised the staff. “We have both seen the truth,” he told her coldly._

_He didn’t pay attention whether or not the fireball hit its target. Vengeance retreated to the far back of his mind the moment he cast it and then Anders was crouching next to Fenris, hands gripping the elf’s arm tightly and pouring healing magic into the dying body. Fenris’ body seized in his hold and Anders felt the torment, felt the elf’s fear and closed his eyes, let his magic reach deeper. Compassion was present in an instant, reaching out for the elf’s spirit trapped in its nightmare.  Still, Fenris weakened further as Anders and Compassion tried to prevent, to heal and restore and Anders choked back a sob before lowering himself to the ground, spooking behind Fenris and pulling the elf close, his hands splaying on the chestplate, above the elf’s heart._

_“You will not die on me, now that I finally found you, blighted elf,” Anders told him, his life force already reaching out for Fenris’, creating ties once again. A sick feeling washed over the mage for a moment, his body on fire as it echoed the state Fenris’ body was in through their renewed connection._

_When he allowed himself a moment to glance over his shoulder, the little girl was gone._

 


	11. ELEVEN

Anders jerked awake when a big hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed it gently. Hawke immediately took a step back, ready to dodge the fireball that Anders had warned of so often before and that he was sure would set his ass on fire one day. Amber eyes narrowed at him and Hawke offered a sheepish smile.

 

“I keep forgetting,” he admitted in a whisper.

 

“ _Maker,_ Hawke,” Anders grunted out. “One of these days…”

 

“How is he?”

 

Anders glanced at the elf in his arms. Fenris’ own arms were wrapped tightly around him, almost possessive, face buried against the mage’s chest, their legs entwined. Anders remembered them falling asleep side by side, each wrapping one arm loosely around the other’s middle. He smiled fondly at his lover and kissed the top of Fenris’ head.

  
“He’ll be fine,” he murmured. “He only needs to rest.”

 

Hawke nodded. “Marethari said you are welcome to stay for as long as Fenris needs to recover.”

 

“It’s not like we actually have a place to return to anymore,” Anders remarked bitterly, though he kept his voice low as to not wake Fenris.

 

Hawke sighed and slowly sat on the end of their bed, gaze travelling over Fenris’ still form. “I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t rebuild it.”

 

“I wonder for what purpose,” Anders said.

  
“What do you mean?”

 

The mage sighed. “I joined the Wardens after running from the Circle, again, because I had nowhere else to go to that did not entail certain death or life-long pursuit. I left the Wardens to go to Kirkwall because of what Karl told me about the Circle there. After he was dead, I technically had no reason to stay any longer.”

 

“Then why did you?”

 

“Because I had nowhere else to go,” Anders offered. “At first, I stayed because Justice thought it was a good idea to keep running the clinic and do something about the situation at Kirkwall’s Circle. He had a purpose and latched on it. At the time, I was still willing to run, go someplace else and…I don’t know. Eventually, apart from what Justice wanted, I stayed for you.” The mage smiled. “Once I was separated from Justice and less of a danger to myself and the people around me, I thought about moving on once again. The clinic held no appeal for me any longer, the mages in the Circle were incapable of doing something to change their situation on their own accord and I had been enough of a liability to each of you for long enough. Instead, I decided to stay, again.”

 

Hawke grinned at that. “For Fenris?”

  
“For Fenris,” Anders confirmed. “Because he gave _me_ purpose. To become a better person, to become someone he can trust, against all odds, even though I basically represent everything he hates. I wanted to be a man he can love, without second thoughts, without regret. He gave me a home. That home burned to ashes, last time I checked.”

 

“But you still have Fenris,” Hawke pointed out.

 

“I do. But Fenris’ original purpose was to face Danarius, once that bastard comes for him, and face him he did. He may have decided to make the mansion more inhabitable for me, but now I wonder what reason we’d have to stay. Kirkwall is connected to too many negative things.”

 

Hawke frowned at the mage. “You think about leaving?”

 

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted. “I wouldn’t know where to go. Kirkwall became home, whether I wanted it to or not. Then Fenris became home. Everything we had was lost to the flames. I mean, where would we even start?” He seemed helpless as he glanced at the warrior. “What is keeping you, Garrett? You lost your entire family after coming here – Bethany to an ogre as you escaped Lothering, your brother in the Deep Roads and your mother to a crazed blood mage. Kirkwall has not been kind to you in all these years. Now you’re the Champion of Kirkwall, people rely on you, wanted you as the new viscount even, and we saw how that turned out.” Anders made a face. “Meredith made sure to take actions before you could make life in Kirkwall good for everyone but the rich and the Templars. And now, Kirkwall, technically, is no more.”

 

Hawke hummed thoughtfully, arms crossing.

 

“Not to mention the Chantry won’t just sit by idly and do nothing.”

 

“That’s what I worry about the most right now,” Hawke agreed. “Obviously, the city needs every help it can get, even from the Chantry and its Templars, but –“

 

“But why is it of any business to us? Let the Chantry rebuild the city, if they must. Isabela has been saying for years we should go someplace else and Maker knows why she didn’t just leave and be done with it. Merrill could stay with her clan and lead them away from here, to a place more safe. Varric has enough connections across all of Thedas that I am sure he’ll be able to find another place to settle. Maybe accompany Isabela to Rivain, he always seemed interested in going there for a while. Aveline is capable, she can find work anywhere she likes.”

 

“Aveline will not give up on Kirkwall,” Hawke objected. “For some reason or the other, she is very fond of Kirkwall. She has always been trying to make it a better place for everyone. She got married. And…” Hawke sighed. “She’s pregnant.”

 

Anders’ eyes became comically wide. “What?”

 

“She told me about two weeks ago, in private.”

 

“That’s…that’s wonderful. Is she excited?”

 

“I believe Donnic more so than her,” Hawke joked. “You do remember what she said about children, right?”

 

Anders chuckled lightly. Fenris stirred in his arms and Anders tightened his hold on the elf’s slender frame. “Sleep,” he murmured into soft, white hair.

 

“I would, if you two would be quiet already,” Fenris muttered against the mage’s chest.

 

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” Anders whispered, kissing the top of Fenris’ head and Hawke smiled at them.

 

“I had always hoped the two would get along, one day,” he said. “I had not anticipated just _how_ well you two can get along.”

 

Fenris harrumphed in response and slowly extricated himself from the mage’s tight hold. He still felt sore but at least rested.

 

“What is your plan then, Hawke?” Fenris asked as he carefully stretched his sore limbs, one hand reaching out to place on one of Anders’ thighs, squeezing it gently. Anders stiffened and Fenris smirked.

 

“I am not sure I actually have a plan,” Hawke admitted. “I do feel responsible for what happened, though. We left the city and Meredith saw her chance.”

 

“There was no indication that we had anything to worry about other than Meredith and Orsino pubicly denounce each other, as they had done in the past,” Fenris pointed out. “Neither did we have reason to believe that the Templars having Anders’ explosive in their possession would pose a serious threat.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Hawke agreed. “But still…this city has been home for many years, to all of us. We made connections, friends. It was home for all of us, who had various reasons to seek shelter in Kirkwall and even though it was difficult at times, Kirkwall offered us a place to stay. At least in that regard, I believe we owe the citizens of Kirkwall to help in whichever way we can.”

 

Anders looked thoughtful at that.

 

“And, for once, even though I did try to stay out of this whole business, I want the Chantry to realize what has _led_ to Kirkwall being destroyed. That it was Meredith who lost her mind and that people like her should not watch over mages in the Circle.”

 

“There should be no Circles at all, Maker be _damned_ ,” Anders hissed.

 

“You think they will listen?” Fenris asked doubtfully.

 

“I don’t know,” Hawke admitted. “But I want to try.”

 

“They will blame the mages,” Anders murmured. “They had the explosive first. The ones who know the truth are dead and what the Templars who did not side with Meredith believe to know is mere speculation.”

 

“I won’t let them,” Hawke assured the mage.

  
“And what proof will you present?” Anders asked sharply. “You have nothing more than speculations, too. The situation between the Chantry and the Templars on one side and the mages on the other side has been problematic for centuries. You honestly think they’ll believe you, Champion?”

 

“Mage, you’re getting upset again,” Fenris pointed out and indeed, Anders felt Vengeance flutter in the far back of his mind, nudging and questioning. He took a deep breath and told Vengeance to retreat. “Is he going to become a problem?” the elf asked.

 

“Vengeance? No. I don’t think so.” Anders sighed. “Sorry.”

 

“Maybe it would really do you good to get away from all this,” Hawke noted. “I realize it will not make your hate for the Circle disappear but at least you won’t have to _see_ the problems every day.”

 

“Hawke may be right,” Fenris agreed.

 

“And where would we go?” Anders asked tiredly. “What would we do once we find a place peaceful enough? Unlike me, Fenris doesn’t _have_ to be on the run constantly. Not anymore.”

 

Fenris huffed and shot the mage a glare.

 

“You know I’m right,” the blond said.

 

Varric chose that moment to step into the tent, a smirk on his lips. “Mael and Zevran just arrived,” he announced and Anders sighed loudly in relief.

 

“Are they alright?” Hawke asked.

 

“They are indeed and it seems they found a small treasure in the Deep Roads as well.” Varric offered the other three men a toothy grin, though the look in his eyes spoke of mild confusion. “You may want to see this.” He gave Fenris a pointed look.

 

Emerald greens widened. “They found her?” Fenris asked. He felt Anders stiffen next to him.

 

“A little girl in dire need of a bath,” the dwarf confirmed with a nod and already, Fenris was scrambling to get off the narrow bed. Anders’ hand caught his wrist and held him in place.

 

“No,” the mage told him firmly, causing Hawke and Varric to frown at him.

 

“Let go of me,” Fenris told Anders.

 

“No,” Anders said again, but more gently this time.

 

Fenris growled and broke free from the tight hold. “Stop being ridiculous, mage!” he snarled at the blond before storming out of the tent, barefeet and shirtless.

  
“What’s the matter?” Hawke asked the mage, who jumped off the bed to follow the elf.

 

“Whoah, Blondie!” Varric exclaimed when the blond rushed past him and exchanged a glance with Hawke. “What’s gotten into him?”

 

 

Fenris’ squinted his eyes when bright sunlight blinded him momentarily, stumbling into the heart of the camp. He could hear Merrill chatter and coo excitedly and knew which way to go, even though spots were dancing before his vision.

 

“Ah, it seems our dear mage indeed found his beloved!” Fenris heard Zevran say around a small chuckle. Behind him, he heard Anders hiss his name angrily.

 

Opening his eyes fully again, Fenris locked gazes with the little girl all but clinging to the Warden Commander. Her wary expression gave way to a brilliant smile and she struggled until Mael set her down and she was able to run toward Fenris.

 

“Fenris!” she exclaimed excitedly and the Tevinter elf couldn’t help but smile at her.

  
“Where have you been?” he asked as he picked her up. “Why did you run away again?”

 

Lianni pursed her lips. “You didn’t wakes ups,” she murmured. “I heards noises. I thoughts you were gones like the others.”

 

“I take it you know each other?” Mael asked.

 

“I found her in the Deep Roads as I was looking for an exit,” Fenris confirmed.

 

“Put her down!” Anders snapped behind him.

 

“Andraste’s tits, Anders, what’s wrong with you?” Hawke exclaimed.

 

Fenris spun around, his hold on Lianni tightening while the girl tried to make herself small in his arms. “Anders, what’s the meaning of this?” Fenris snarled, meeting Anders’ stormy gaze with his own. It was almost malicious, the way Anders stared at Lianni and it made Fenris pause. “You lied to me,” he suddenly realized. “When I asked you about her, you said –“

 

“Put her down, Fenris. She is not what you think,” Anders said as calmly as he could.

 

“You said there was no little girl,” Fenris continued. “You even suggested I had only imagined her and when I proved you wrong, you didn’t want me to go look for her. Why?”

 

“Anders, what’s wrong?” Mael asked.

 

“She’s not human,” Anders murmured. “She is not –“

 

A gentle hand on his shoulder had the mage pause and he glanced to his right to find Marethari look at him calmly.

 

“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked, surprised.

 

“Calm yourself, Child and your spirit within,” Marethari told Anders. “She is no malevolent creature.”

 

Anders made a disgusted noise and turned away, returning to the tent without another word.

 

“Okay,” Varric spoke up, “what is going on here?”

 

Marethari stepped up to Fenris and Lianni and offered the scared child a smile. “Your name is Lianni?”

 

The little girl nodded shyly.

 

“And Fenris found you in the Deep Roads?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Do you remember where you come from?”

 

“She said she was in the Circle before it collapsed,” Fenris murmured. “She even mentioned Orsino and that he has spoken of Hawke.”

 

“Oh?” Hawke lifted an eyebrow.

 

Marethari smile widened a little. “What does the Circle look like?” she asked. “Did you have many friends? How many children did you share a room with?”

 

Lianni frowned at the question. She looked confused now, which made Fenris frown in return.

 

“Could there be others that survived?” Marethari pressed on. “Should we look for them?”

 

Lianni made  a distressed sound at that and buried her face against Fenris’ naked chest.

  
“She’s scared and probably hungry, thirsty and exhausted,” Fenris muttered.

 

Merrill joined them and smiled sweetly at the distressed child. “Are you? Hungry, that is? We can find something really tasty for you. Do you like apples?”

 

Lianni’s confusion only grew at that and she looked at Merrill with big, questioning eyes.

 

“She…doesn’t know what you are talking about,” Fenris realized.

 

“No, she doesn’t,” Marethari confirmed with a smile and a nod. “She has not experienced hunger or thirst yet, have you, little one?”

 

Slowly, Fenris repositioned Lianni in his arms so he could look at her. She was still openly confused, yet curious as she stared back at him and Fenris found himself once again struck by a feeling of familiarity. It was the first time he got to look at her in bright daylight and so many small details were revealed now that his eyes took in – the form of her nose, the curve of her eyebrows and the long eyelashes through which she was looking up to him. The form of her cheek bones and the small, slightly thin lips that offered a tiny pout. The form and color of her eyes and the way her still matted blond hair fell, framing her little face.

 

“You look like him,” Fenris murmured.

 

“She also looks a lot like you,” Merrill noticed. “She’s got your cheeks.”

  
“And your eyes,” Hawke added.

 

“How did you and Blondie manage _that_ one, Broody?” Varric asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

 

“Who is she?” Fenris asked Marethari.

 

“I don’t know,” the Keeper admitted.

 

~*~

 

Anders didn’t turn around to look at him when Fenris hesitately entered the tent. Fenris paused by the entrance, just watching the mage checking Fenris’ armor for things that needed to be fixed or were too damaged to be fixed.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” Fenris asked eventually.

 

“Because I told it to go away and hoped it had.”

  
“What happened in the thaig?”

 

Anders sighed. “It was there when I finally found you…”

 

“She,” Fenris corrected. “I realize now Lianni is indeed not what she seems to be, but…she does have a gender.”

 

“ _She_. She was leaning over you. I have met her before.”

  
“Where?”

 

Another sigh. “In a dream, while we were on our way back from the Warden prison. A cute, shy little girl suddenly appearing in my dream. She…I thought it was my mind playing a trick on me, or a demon or overly curious Fade spirit.”

 

Fenris pursed his lips. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Did you look at her?” Anders pointed at the tent’s door. “Fenris, she looks like –“

 

“A mix between you and me, yes. She does indeed have your nose, mage.”

 

Anders frowned at the elf.

  
“Your eyebrows even have the same shape and the hair color is the same. It even falls like yours, when you carry it open,” Fenris continued. “When she smiled at me for the first time, after I found her in the Deep Roads, I thought she has your smile. Lianni looked _exactly_ like you in that moment.”

 

“She said she was trying to bring you back to me,” Anders said. “And then I heard the voice.”

  
“What voice?” Fenris asked.

  
“I heard _Justice_ , Fenris. Alright? I panicked. I had not anticipated I’d ever meet him again after everything that happened and then I see a little girl I previously met in my dream and her mere presence made me feel sick to the bone and then I heard Justice. Calling my name. Forgive me for not wanting that demon to try and take you away from me after everything.”

 

“Justice.” Green eyes widened in surprise. “Are you certain?” At the dark look on Anders’ face, Fenris nodded. “You wouldn’t be this upset if you were not.”

 

“Where is she now?”

  
“Merrill is bathing her and Marethari will try to find out more about her in the meanwhile. Lianni told me she was in the Circle when it blew up, but she could not seem to give further details about the building itself or how she’s spent her days. The Keeper believes Lianni’s memories are not her own.”

  
“And _what_ is she?” Anders asked. “She is not Justice. I heard him speak but…”

 

“The Keeper could not tell for certain, either, but she did realize Lianni is no mere girl when I could not.” Fenris sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t have lied to me. Our argument out there would have not been necessary if I had known, Anders.”

 

Anders sighed in defeat and sat on the bed they had slept in earlier. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Something tells me it’ll be some time before I’m done apologizing.”

  
“Anything else I should know?” Fenris teased.

 

“There is,” the mage confirmed. “Come here.” He patted the free spot on the bed next to him.

 

Fenris huffed and slowly walked over, but chose to remain on his feet instead as he gazed imploringly at the mage. Anders seemed even more uneasy now.

 

“I did something I know you will not be happy with,” Anders began, “but I want you to know that I was…desperate.”

 

“Desperate?” Fenris lifted an eyebrow. “ _How_ desperate, mage?”

 

“I went to the Keep alone while Hawke and the others went to the Gallows to stop Meredith and save whom they could,” Anders explained. “We still have to tell you what went down while you were in the Deep Roads and trust me when I say it was not pretty. At all. Meredith completely –“

 

“Mage!” Fenris grabbed Anders’ shoulders. “What did you do?”

 

“I had to make a choice. Keep looking for you and abandon our friends, or aid our friends and abandon you,” the mage said. “I figured if I abandoned our friends and still would not find you in time, you’d be very…disappointed that I didn’t fight by their side. So I…I tried to think of something that would enable me to do both, look for you while fighting with them.” Anders pulled back his left sleeve and Fenris glanced down. “I don’t want you to hear it from the others,” the mage murmured as green eyes fixed their gaze on the fading scar across his wrist. “It didn’t work out in the end.”

 

Fenris didn’t say anything but his grip on Anders’ shoulders tightened painfully and the mage winced. After a long moment of silence, the elf exhaled shakily and released his hold on Anders, almost recoiling as he took a step or two back.

  
“I’m sorry,” Anders said.

  
“Shut up,” Fenris hissed at him.

 

“Fenris, I am not –“

 

“Get out of my sight!” the elf suddenly yelled, pointing at the tent door furiously. “Get out!”

 

Anders’ jaw set as he stared wordlessly at Fenris.

  
“Go away,” Fenris growled and watched as Anders silently got up and left.


	12. TWELVE

Hawke had always thought nightfall was particularly beautiful on Sundermount. With the Dalish camp settled at the foot of the highest of Vimmark’s mountains, the sun setting behind the mountaintop, coloring the horizon orange, red and pink , with the darkening sky above and the first stars beginning to show, it was a view that always made Hawke’s heart skip a beat and had the travel lust from his early childhood days return.

 

As a child, Garrett had often dreamed of the places beyond Lothering; to see the the mountains, islands and deserts his father told about in his bedtime stories. To see mighty creatures long forgotten, unicorns, gryphons,  dragons, even Darkspawn, to learn what was to gruesome about them. He had yearned to visit Denerim, to look upon the Royal Palace; he had yearned the vast of the sea, to travel aboard a pirate ship, or ride on the back of a gryphon to see Thedas from above.

 

Garrett has always thought he’d live the life of a farmer – get married, have children, protect his family – especially the mages – and till fields. Sell part of his crops on the market in Lothering; steer away from trouble. He had never seen himself having to flee from his home and into an unknown future, having to fight so hard to make a living for his family here in Kirkwall, surrounded by betrayal and corruption, even by his own uncle.

 

Anders had struck a nerve when he’d told Hawke Kirkwall had never been kind to him. He’d lost one sibling on the run from Lothering and the rest of his family during the years of living in Kirkwall. He didn’t speak to his uncle anymore after it had turned out he had lost the family’s properties to gambling and withheld important information from his mother. After everything he’d done, everything they had gone through, he had not been able to protect his family. Carver, they had had to leave behind in the Deep Roads; Anders had burned his brother’s body, so the Darkspawn wouldn’t have a feast on him or worse. He’d done the same for Hawke’s mother before helping Garrett gathering the ashes so she could have a somewhat decent burial. They had found a beautiful spot for her on the Vimmarks.

 

“You look lost in thoughts,” an accented voice addressed him gently and Hawke blinked before glancing up. Zevran was smiling down at him. It seemed the last days’ events had finally caught up with the Antivan. He looked tired and more than ready to call it a night.

 

“You look ready to drop dead,” Hawke shot back with a smirk. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

 

“Ah, and miss the view of you sitting by the fireside, staring into distance?” The elf winked and Hawke chuckled while Zevran sat down next to him.

 

“I take it you saw them to the passage without problem?” Hawke asked and handed the elf the bottle he’d gotten from Merrill earlier. Hawke was not quite sure _what_ the beverage was, but it was alcoholic and it was certainly strong. His belly felt comfortably warm and whatever it was, Hawke had needed it.

 

Zevran made a face after a first tentative sip and eyed the bottle quizzically before flashing Hawke another smile. “Indeed. We did encounter a group of mages, though. It seems they stole away from the city when no one was watching.”

 

Hawke snorted. “And so it begins. Anders was pleased I bet?”

 

“He didn’t really pay attention to them.”

 

Hawke hummed thoughtfully and cast a glance to the tent that Fenris still vacated.

 

“Are you planning to return to Kirkwall tomorrow as well?” Zevran asked.

 

“Yes. I’d like to see what I can do to help.” Hawke offered the elf a tired smile.

 

It had been no more than maybe fifty people that Merrill had managed to lead to Sundermount. Ten of them mages, two of the mages were elven. The elven mages decided to stay with the clan while the others had taken off to an unknown future as soon as they were strong enough to travel.

 

The rest of the fugitives had been elves from the Alienage. They had set up camp not too far away from the Dalish, deciding to keep to themselves for now. They were no longer – or had never been – accustomed to the life of the Dalish and needed time to adjust. Hawke wondered if they would stay, would remain with the clan and return to their origins.

 

They sat together in silence, watching the Dalish preparing for the night. The first guards were set up while everyone else returned to their tent. Merrill walked by, carrying a sleeping Lianni in her arms. She flashed a smile at Hawke and Zevran before disappearing into Fenris’ tent for a moment.

 

Marethari was one of the last to be seen strolling the camp, as she spoke briefly to people here and there.

 

“If the residents of Kirkwall still ask for you, will you return as their viscount?” Zevran asked quietly.

 

Hawke huffed out a laugh at that. “I don’t know. I haven’t done a very good job at it so far, have I?”

 

“One could always spread the tale of you personally going to the Warden prison to investigate if it was any threat to the people of Kirkwall, accompanying the Warden Commander because you saw it as your duty. Which is actually not too far from the truth, yes?”

 

“Now you sound like Varric.”

 

Zevran chuckled at that.

 

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” Hawke suggested while he stretched out his legs.

 

“And what, I wonder, is it you hope to find out about me?”

 

“Well…you always seem keen to know pretty much everything about everyone. I figured you’d have some stories about yourself to share as well.”

 

Again, Zevran chuckled. “Knowledge is power, my friend. Your dwarven companion knows that and he’s terrific at gathering information or selling them to the right person.”

 

“Varric is certainly better at these things than I will ever be,” Hawke agreed, “apart from the fact that I don’t like to pry.” He offered Zevran a crooked smile. “But you remain a mystery to me.”

 

“I was told being mysterious keeps people interested in you.” The Antivan winked at him and Hawke rolled his eyes.

  
“Fine, I get it. I won’t ask again.”

 

Zevran made a face at him while Hawke took another sip of of nameless beverage and continued to watch the people around them. Merrill chose that moment to emerge from Fenris’ tent, this time without the strange girl whose mere presence had caused quite some ruckus earlier. The elf waved at them both with yet another smile before she joined Marethari, who was currently talking quietly to Mael in front of her own tent. They had been talking for a while now and Hawke was curious what about, yet he felt too tired to move right now.

 

From the corner of his eyes, Hawke caught Zevran frowning at him and quickly took another sip from the bottle to hide his smile.

 

“It would seem I have disappointed you, yes?” the Antivan eventually asked quietly.

 

Now it was Hawke’s turn to frown and he lowered the bottle. “Zev, it is your decision whether or not you want to share something about yourself. I do not see how I’d have any room to be disappointed about that.”

 

“There really isn’t much to share and what I could share is not at all pleasant,” Zevran answered, keeping his voice low. “There was a time when I thought the way my life has been before meeting Mael and Alistair, all those years ago, was something to be proud of, maybe even brag about. I’ve had a lot of time since to realize that actually, my life had been pretty pathetic. Raised in a brothel by whores, sold on the slave market, trained to become a Crow. I’ve killed people for money. I am good at killing, excellent even. I’m worth every coin that was ever been paid for my services and probably more. But the things I have never experienced, the things I’ve lost throughout the years, they reminded me that none of the things I have done in the past, however clever or entertaining they have been, is something to brag about.”

 

Hawke’s frown deepened.

 

“I used to be only a face, the last face someone saw before I slit their throats. I was a name that people whispered fearfully once I had gained a certain reputation. I was a body to take pleasure in, by men and women alike. I was the assassin sent out to kill the two remaining Grey Wardens and failed. I am the Crow that left the Crows and I still have to keep glancing back over my shoulder because no one leaves the Crows unless their life ends.” Zevran sighed. “I’d like to believe I’ve become a better man since travelling across Ferelden at the Wardens’ side, but I can’t say I have been up to wicked, brilliant things lately.”

 

“You helped stop the Blight,” Hawke pointed out. “I’d say that’s pretty damn brilliant.”

 

“Yes. But even that tale grew a beard by now. History will remember the Wardens ending the Blight, yet again, and rehabilitated the Grey Warden order in general.” Zevran smirked. “Though I do not look to make history. I found that I’d just like to live, for a change. Make my own decisions. Do something I like?”

 

“You and Fenris have a lot in common.”

 

“A thing that can be said about probably every elf in Thedas, my friend.”

 

Hawke made a face. “I’m…sorry.”

 

“No offense taken, in case you were worried.” Zevran flashed him a brilliant smile and Hawke offered a small one in return.

  
“So, what _would_ you like to do?” he asked. “Maybe that is something worth talking about?”

 

“I have not found out yet. Obviously, my loyalty lies with Mael at the moment. I do enjoy keeping him company at Vigil’s Keep, spy on their enemies and train rogues.”

 

“Don’t you ever feel lonely, though? Vigil’s Keep does not sound like a place one could call home or make home.”

 

“It is not,” Zevran agreed. “It _is_ a fortress. No matter how nicely you decorate your room, it remains a fortress.” He paused. “Maybe that’s why Anders never liked it much.”

 

“Well, the sewers he used to live in weren’t much better,” Hawke replied with a snort and Zevran laughed throatily.

  
“After you spent a year locked away within cold stone walls, with your thoughts the only company, _anything_ is better than cold stone walls, my friend.”

 

Hawke hummed thoughtfully.

 

“Your estate…is that what you have always pictured home to be like?” Zevran asked.

 

“No. I always thought I’d grow old on a farm, like everyone else I grew up with. I did enjoy farming.”

 

“That explains all those muscles,” the Antivan teased and Hawke chuckled.

 

“Farming and sword training.”

 

“So, you’d raise cattle, till the fields…harvest from sunrise till sunset. Sell your crops on the market, enjoy the fresh air around you and never worry about a thing otherwise?”

 

“That pretty much sums it up, yes.”

 

“Well, it does sound…wonderful.”

 

Hawke looked at the Antivan thoughtfully for a moment. Then he got to his feet and offered a hand to the elf. Zevran quirked an eyebrow at him in return.

 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Hawke said. “It’s been a very long day.”

 

“Together?” Zevran asked.

 

“Together.”

 

“Why?” Zevran looked truly puzzled at the idea.

 

Hawke sighed. “I figured since we started out with a bang and a lot of unresolved sexual tension, something I usually _don’t_ do, I should make that up to you by doing things my way tonight.”

 

“And that means what exactly?” The Antivan could barely contain his amusement, though he still looked confused.

 

“A comfortable bed and a pair of arms that hold you while you sleep.”

  
“That is –“ The blond blinked.

  
“Or we agree I am making an idiot of myself right now. Then I shall bid you goodnight, run away as fast as I can, because this is terribly awkward right now, and see each other again in the morning.”

 

Another throaty laugh and Zevran got to his feet as well. “Awkward is not a word I am familiar with, I’m afraid,” he said with a grin.

 

“Well, how about I entertain you with stories about awkward things until you fall asleep? Because I have a _lot_ of those.”

 

 

~*~

 

Fenris watched Lianni sleep.

 

He felt like he was not able to do anything but watch her. His own sleep wouldn’t come; his mind was reeling and his anger from hours ago, the bitter disappointment, had given way to shame and guilt. Fenris had tried to understand what both Marethari and Merrill explained to him about Lianni, but he was tired, exhausted and actually feared the things yet to come.

 

So he watched Lianni sleep and marveled that the girl would feel the need for sleep while she did not experience hunger or thirst. Now that she was bathed and dressed in a clean, simple linen dress, Fenris found even more similarities between her and Anders – and him, to an extent. There were freckles on her face, on her cheeks, that had been hidden beneath dirt and dried blood before. Her hair was light blond, now that it was no longer dirty and matted, lighter than Anders’ was, but Fenris had seen blonds changing the tone of their haircolor as they grew older and found himself wondering if Anders’ hair had been this light as well, when he’d been Lianni’s age. Or, the age her appearance would suggest.

 

_“The memories she has of the Circle, the memories that made her tell you she came from the Circle in Kirkwall, are not her own I believe. She probably doesn’t even remember the Circle in Kirkwall, but the Circle in Ferelden.”_

_“The Circle Anders was brought to as a child?”_

_“Yes. I believe her memories are actually Anders’ memories. I don’t think the little one knows how she ended up in our world to begin with, so she relies on the fragments of memories that helped shape her.”_

 

Lianni mumbled in her sleep, hugged her small pillow and buried her face in it. Fenris remembered teasing Anders about doing the same thing and playfully called it the mage’s attempts to suffocate; except usually, Anders would not use his own pillow, but Fenris’. The thought elicited a bitter smile from Fenris.

 

_“But what is she?” Fenris asked._

_“I am not sure. I have never seen someone like her,” Marethari said thoughtfully. “Seeing her reminds me of vague theses and tales of the Somniari who spent a great deal in the Fade, learning and exploring.”_

_“I remember you saying that when a spirit dies, its energy returns to the Fade and may even regenerate,” Fenris murmured._

_“Yes. I have read through the notes and diaries of one of the last Somniaris we had with us. He said the spirit may regenerate into another and rise again. Or, if shaped by memories and experiences made, it may rise again with a different personality and have no memory of its past.”_

_“So…this child may indeed be Justice?” The mere idea was…disturbing, to say the least and Fenris understood why Anders had reacted so repellent and cold toward her. The mage usually loved children. Fenris had seen children at the mage’s clinic often enough in the past, and the way they would make Anders laugh or smile a little wistfully. “Anders said he heard the spirit talk to him when he found me.”_

_“I don’t think Lianni was aware of that. Neither do I believe she is a regenerated spirit of justice.”_

_“She healed me. She said she has an auntie and her name is Compassion. I thought she was like Anders, a Spirit Healer, although way too young to have awakened already.”_

_Marethari hummed thoughtfully. “Yet another memory of Anders, possibly. I cannot tell if the child is a Spirit of Compassion, though, so I have no explanation for how she managed to heal you.”_

 

What had it been like, for a child such as Anders, to touch upon the Fade, to be chosen by a Spirit of Compassion?

 

_“But how does she exist? Fade Spirits can’t exist in our world. Anders said Justice would have vanished forever, had they not joined when the spirit had to leave the body of his former host.”_

_“I have heard about spirits being drawn into the mortal world and made manifest against their will,” Merrill said thoughtfully. “The demon I speak to told me about it during one of our long conversations.”_

_Fenris bristled at the mere idea and glared at the blood mage._

_“From what I have learned, Fade beings being drawn into the mortal world against their will usually become violent and destructive.”_

_“Maybe it was not against her will?” Merrill suggested with a shrug. “Although Anders and Justice were separated and Justice defeated in the Fade, they remain connected, Anders and he. They were too entwined to be separated fully. Vengeance is still a part of Anders, right? Maybe that’s what drew her into our world?”_

_“But she doesn’t remember?” Fenris asked to clarify._

_“According to the notes the Keeper keeps from our ancestors, it is possible. We do not know how long Lianni has been in our world until you met her. They say spirits can evolve. They learn from the things they experience and endure. They learn from grief, for example.”_

_  
“Grief.” Fenris pondered that for a moment._

_“If we go with the theory that this is somehow still connected to Anders and his former possession by a Fade spirit, maybe it was his grief that she experienced and learned from? You were lost to him briefly. He didn’t know if you were still alive.”_

 

_“But you don’t know for sure.”_

_“No, Fenris. We know nothing for sure. We have never encountered someone like her before.”_

 

Lianni made a distressed noise, her small face crunching up as she clutched the pillow tightly and curled up under the thin woolen blanket. It took but a moment until Fenris watched her relax again and continue to sleep peacefully. A nightmare? Could Lianni have those?

 

Would she have Anders’ nightmares, if what she believed to be her own history were indeed the mage’s memories? And if so, what kind of memories?

 

Fenris once again realized how little he knew about the mage. He growled under his breath, hands curling into fists.

 

After another long moment of watching Lianni sleep and once again realizing that his own sleep was still far away, Fenris quietly left the tent and stepped outside. It was surprisingly cold tonight, the night sky black and starless. There were hints of a pale moon behind dark clouds. The camp lay in almost complete silence except for a few hushed whispers or murmuring from the people still outside by the fire or from inside the tents.

  
Fenris took a moment to look around, trying to find the mage. The only familiar face he could spot was the Warden Commander, sitting by the fire in the center of the camp, cleaning his sword. Shivering in the cold air, Fenris made his way over to his fellow elf.

 

“How are you feeling?” Mael asked quietly. “From what I heard, the poisoning was well advanced by the time Anders found you.”

 

Fenris sat down next to the Warden Commander and huffed a little. “Still sore and a little exhausted despite having slept and eaten. I was told I’ll require rest for a couple days to allow my body to recover fully.”

  
“And yet, instead of getting some more sleep, you sneak around the camp.”

 

Another huff. “I – seem unable to fall asleep, although I am tired.”

 

For a while, the two elves sat in silence, each staring into the dancing flames. Fenris watched Mael finish cleaning his sword before he set to sharpen it a little. The blade did not look like it needed sharpening, but Fenris refrained from pointing that out.

 

“Whenever I look at you,” Mael spoke up suddenly, keeping his voice low, “I wonder if I would have met the same fate as you, had I not been conscripted.”

 

“What do you know of my _fate_?” Fenris grunted out.

 

“Hawke and Anders told me a little about you, while we were on our way back from the Vimmarks.” Mael offered Fenris a half-smile.  “Although I had the feeling there was something Hawke didn’t want to tell and Anders refused to hear.”

 

Fenris lowered his gaze to the ground.

 

“Did Anders tell you how I ended up with the Grey Wardens?”

 

“He hasn’t spoken a lot of you, no.”

 

Mael snorted. “I was supposed to get married that day. Duncan, our former Warden Commander, had come to Denerim, looking for recruits to conscript. I didn’t like him. He was a shemlen and had no business to come to our Alienage. On the other hand, he provided a much needed distraction, as I was trying to find a way out of the marriage my father had arranged.”

 

“You asked to be conscripted to escape marriage?” Fenris lifted an eyebrow.

 

Mael chuckled at that. “No one can possibly be that insane. The human noble in charge of the city came to the Alienage just as the ceremony started. I had already encountered him a few times before, he was a rightout bastard. He took some of our women for company at his ‘party’ and when I objected, he knocked me out. It caused quite an uproar in the Alienage. We knew what fate awaited these girls and our Elder eventually agreed that we could not stand by idly and wait until he was finished with them. He took my fiancée and my childhood friend and I was determined to get them back alive and, hopefully, not yet raped.”

 

“A mere City elf fighting against a possibly well-guarded human noble?” Fenris’ other eyebrow shot up. “What possessed you, I wonder.”

 

“My cousin wondered the same. I may have been a mere City elf, but my mother was a well-trained warrior and she had trained me since the day I was strong enough to lift a sword. I went into the palace and slayed every single man.” Mael sighed. “Obviously, not the wisest decision, but I was enraged. One of the girls had been killed for the entertainment of the human noble, my childhood friend had been raped repeatedly. My fiancée was thankfully unharmed, as was my cousin’s. It didn’t take the City Guards long to find out what happened.” Another half-smile directed at Fenris. “They came for my cousin and me and I took the blame for everything, in hope that my cousin would remain as free. Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription before they could take me away and throw me into a prison cell.”

 

“What you did was noble and rightful,” Fenris murmured. “When it comes to elves, humans have always taken way too many liberties. Still do.”

 

“I won’t argue with that,” Mael agreed. “Yet it makes me wonder, if I would have lived a difficult life in the Alienage until the end of my days, or eventually ended up as a slave in some noble’s household or under a magister’s hand, like you.”

 

Fenris hummed in agreement. “And now you find yourself in the company of a human, who is the king of Ferelden. Humans join the Grey Wardens regularly, don’t they?”

 

“They do. Over the time I spent with Alistair and fighting the Blight, I have learned a lot about the shemlen and I’d like to believe they learned a lot about elves in return. Elves are now free in Denerim. Many chose to remain in the Alienage, but the conditions have improved much. If you find the one or other working in a human noble’s household, they get paid and have the freedom to object if they see need. Kirkwall still has a long way to go and I doubt Tevinter will ever change.”

 

Fenris sighed deeply. “Why are you telling me all this?”

 

“I was hoping you’d share your story in return. The parts Hawke didn’t tell us, although it was obvious he knew something. From what I gathered, you aren’t too fond of mages. Varric even said you hate them with a fiery passion. I wonder where Anders fits into that picture.”

 

Fenris growled, hands curling into fists.

 

“Tell me about Danarius,” Mael suggested.

 

“I would prefer not to,” Fenris gritted out.

 

“Hm.” The Warden Commander reached for his water skin and took a long sip before offering it to Fenris, who declined the offer with a  shake of his head.

 

“I actually came to you in hope you could tell me where I can find Anders,” Fenris murmured.

 

“Anders left the camp and returned to Kirkwall, while you were resting.”

 

The Tevinter elf was thunderstruck, eyes widening in disbelief as he looked at Mael. The guilt in his stomach began to unfurl, turning into a raging beast, snarling and clawing. Mael met his gaze, his own eyes calm, yet challenging.

 

“I did not mean…” Fenris shook his head. “It was not my intention –“

 

“The entire camp was able to hear your yelling.”

 

 _Get out of my sight_!

 

How humiliated must Anders feel right now? The mere thought made Fenris feel sick. His shoulders slumped and he snarled, angry with himself.

 

“Hawke plans to return to Kirkwall in the morning,” Mael continued. “Maybe you’d like to accompany him. You haven’t seen the state the city is in yet, have you?”

 

Fenris shook his head.

  
“Prepare for the worst.” Mael put his sword away and focused his full attention on Fenris. “What Anders _did_ was something he learned from a book I gave him, years ago. I found it in Amaranthine and thought the explanations on a body’s anatomy would help him getting even better at healing fatal wounds.”

 

“You gave him a book about blood magic?”

 

“It was not a book _about_ blood magic as such but indeed written by a blood mage. I read it myself, after Anders disappeared from Vigil’s Keep. The blood mage in question apparently had a knack for healing, too. It was very old and I doubt present blood mages actually realize what good they could do with the knowledge on anatomy. Flesh and blood. A lot of the things Anders can do nowadays, from what I’ve heard, stems from reading books such as this. Forbidden books, seeing as most origin from Tevinter magisters.”

 

Anders had asked Fenris once about the books in Danarius’ library, the elf remembered. At the time, it made him slightly furious, especially having such a request come from a mage who otherwise condemned blood magic.

 

“Spirit Healers are rare. Spirit Healers that can do the things Anders does are unique. I am not even sure I have ever heard of another who can renew flesh or fix bones.”

 

“Are you saying blood magic isn’t dangerous but useful?” Fenris snarled.

  
“Every kind of magic has its uses and every kind of magic is also dangerous. Obviously, blood magic is considered the most dangerous and usually requires making deals with demons to achieve the powers it promises.”

 

“And you let him do it.”

 

“Anders did no such thing. If he had, it probably would have worked out better than it has.”

 

That made the Tevinter elf scowl.

 

“Anders summoned shades. It was described in the book I mentioned. The blood mage who wrote it mentioned in a short chapter that it was impossible, tending to the deadly wounded while under attack. He summoned shades and bound them to his will, commanded them to fight off any enemy while he healed, so the wounded could return to the fight.”

 

“That –“ Fenris paused. “That actually makes sense.”

 

“They frightened off most that attackers. Anders tried something similar, yet instead of making them fight, he commanded them to find you while he aided your friends against the Knight Commander at the Gallows. Anders is no blood mage and absolutely inexperienced with these things. I dare say that is a good thing.” Mael smirked. “And you know as well as I do that Anders is indeed capable of simply saying _no_.”

 

_“I heards whispers.”_

_“Whispers?”_

_“Someones whispereds your names. I thoughts maybe a friends.”_

_“Did you see anyone?”_

_“A shadows. It wents all the ways up and then I gots lost and found my spider friends.”_

 

Was that what Lianni had heard in the Deep Roads? The shades, looking for him?

 

“He could have kept it a secret from you and you would have never known,” Mael said quietly. “Instead, Anders wanted you to know what he did, even at the risk of you getting mad at him. It shows he trusts you.”

 

“And I am undeserving,” Fenris agreed with a low growl.

 

“That remains to be seen.” Slowly, Mael got up, offering Fenris a crooked smile. “I suggest you try and get some sleep. Morning will come soon.”

 

Fenris got up as well and regarded the Warden Commander for a moment before smiling bitterly. “Had you been captured and taken to Tevinter, you would have made a terrible slave.”

 

“Oh, I sure would hope so,” Mael snorted.

 

“But it also means you would have not made the same mistake I did,” Fenris continued. “My sister said I fought to receive my markings and that I used the boon I was granted to ask for freedom for my mother and her. It is only half the truth.” Fenris lifted his arms and let the lyrium lines flare to life. “The other half of the truth was that I _wanted_ Danarius’ attention and approval. He had been good to me as I grew up. I honestly believed that our master, _my_ master, was just and kind, compared to what I heard about other masters and how they treated their slaves. I knew nothing but life in slavery. I knew nothing but serving Danarius and enjoyed having his attention. I even believed there was no greater pleasure. I felt honored when he took me to his bed the first time.”

 

Mael frowned and Fenris’ bitter smile grew.

 

“He was my master and I his slave, but there was a time where I honestly thought he cares about me, and sees me as more than just his obedient pet that he can show around. I honestly believed he liked showing me off for who I am and what I meant to him, but instead, he did it to brag and intimidate those he considered his enemies. It wasn’t until he left me behind on Seheron and I spend time in true freedom…until he returned with that _damn_ woman clinging to him, that I realized I meant _nothing_ to him and am replaceable, even in the bedroom.”

 

“You were his lover.” Mael nodded. “That would explain the bitterness.”

 

“I _thought_ I was.” Fenris snorted. “There was even a time where I believed to love him.” His markings died down. “You would have not made such a mistake, because you would have known freedom before slavery. You wouldn’t have been such a fool.”

 

Mael hummed in agreement. “You, my friend, are a hypocrite.”


	13. THIRTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JUST TO BE COMPLETELY ON THE SAFE SIDE, with posting this chapter, I have **updated the warnings and rating**. Please heed those before reading. There is NO actual rape in this chapter (a feeble attempt at best, or more like a power play and one Templar being a true ass), but I wanna make sure ppl are warned in case this is a trigger to someone. Also, implications of past abuse, sooo...Kk? :/ 
> 
> Also, some blood for TessieRutherford.

“Can you use these, Blondie?”

 

Anders looked up and shot Varric a grateful smile before taking the pile of linen shirts the dwarf offered to him. Anders wouldn’t ask where Varric found them, but it was obvious they came from a noble. It was expensive fabric and very neat work. They were clean. With a nod, the mage began to tear one into stripes and focused on the man with the terrible burns on his arms and legs who sat before him, slumped against a wall. The pain from the burns had taken the man’s consciousness, for which Anders was grateful. Bandaging them would cause more pain, if only for a few moments.

 

“Here.”

 

Varric carefully lowered a bag to the ground. “I found Lady Elegant’s stall. She herself is dead, but she had all these potions. Maybe you have use for them.”

  
“Thank you, Varric,” Anders said sincerely and immediately searched the bag for a salve he could use.

 

He’d been doing this since the middle of the night. His body demanded sleep, yet Anders needed something to occupy himself with until the turmoil inside him was put to rest. He would have returned to Kirkwall alone, honoring Fenris’ wish to get out of the elf’s sight for the time being, but Varric had insisted to come along and Anders was grateful the dwarf had. He’d been a great help, searching the ruins of the city for anything Anders could put to use as he treated injuries and spoke a few words of reassurance where they were needed.

 

Cullen had been keeping an eye on him since the moment he arrived. Anders tried to ignore him and Aveline proved an excellent buffer, constantly appearing in the space between the mage and the Templar. Anders was well aware she was sour with him, even though she knew what had happened wasn’t his fault, but he was doing good, treating everyone who required healing, the poor, the rich, Guardsmen and even Templars, well aware of the irony.

 

“I hear entire groups of mages have left Kirkwall while the Templars were distracted,” Varric murmured while he tore apart the rest of the shirts. “The Free Marches may just end up run over by apostates.”

 

“I am sure their only aim is to remain free. They will seek shelter in abandoned places while they figure out what to do with their newfound freedom,” Anders replied in kind as he carefully bandaged the unconscious man’s burned leg.

 

“You could use magic, you know?” Varric grinned. “I keep wondering why you don’t.”

  
“Cullen knows who I am. There’s no point in trying to fool him. The other Templars may not recognize me and I do not want to cause trouble.”

 

“And yet you could show them how magic can serve men indeed and prove you’re not all evil, corrupted creatures.”

 

Anders rolled his eyes.

 

Cullen could not be fooled indeed but otherwise, Anders made sure to change his appearance as far as he could. He’d dressed in pants and shirt, foregoing the Warden armor. His hair was tied differently now, a lose pony tail and the side of his face carrying the vallaslin covered by long, blond strands. His staff he had left behind at the Dalish Camp. Nothing about his current appearance resembled how he’d looked at the Gallows and so far, it seemed to be working. No Templar had asked questions when Anders had arrived, offering his healing skills. There was no recognition in their eyes and Cullen had not said a word since, merely watched him as he worked.

 

“You should take a break after this one,” Varric suggested. “I got you some water and something to eat. Nothing much, but it will restore some of your energy.”

 

“I’m fine,” Anders murmured and started bandaging the man’s other leg.

 

“You are not, but I accept that you don’t want to talk about it,” the dwarf replied easily. “Will you and Broody be alright?”

 

“I don’t know. For now, I will abide to his wish to stay away from him and while I do so, I can make myself useful.”

 

The unconscious man gave a pained grunt and Anders stilled for a moment. “I’m not sure he’ll make it,” he murmured.

 

“So heal him. Wiggle your fingers and do your amazing magic thing, Blondie. You want to save lives, I suggest you actually make an effort to do so.”

 

Anders glared at Varric and the dwarf did actually take a cautious step back. “Just saying. You’re the reason Kirkwall didn’t go to the Void with sickness or plague during the past years. People came to you, mage or not, because you could heal them.”

 

“The moment the Templars realize what I am, it’ll cause trouble.”

 

“Let me speak to Cullen then,” Varric offered. “He can tell his men to stay away from you.”

 

“You really think they’ll listen to him? All of them?” Anders shook his head. “Some of the Templars here were sided with Meredith when shit went down at the Gallows. They are only here because they don’t know what to do with themselves. Enough mages escaped them already.”

 

Varric sighed in defeat and shook his head. “As you wish, Blondie.”

 

“If you want to help me, and those people, you could try and see if there’s more food around for those who need it more than I do right now.” And with that, Anders focused his attention on his current patient and blended out Varric’s annoyed grumbling.

 

Varric left Anders to it and instead joined Aveline and Donnic briefly. Aveline was watching everything that went on around her with hawk’s eyes while Donnic was discussing with another Guardsman about the next steps that should be taken. From the way Aveline held her head, Varric knew was listening to them, but did not offer any suggestions.

 

“Have you been able to find something that could serve as a shelter to these people, yet?” Varric asked her.

 

“No. But we had messengers sent to the rest of the Free Marches, requesting help,” Aveline said. “Should he be here?” she added quietly.

  
“He wants to do what he can do best. Sadly, he is not doing his best because the Templars make him uneasy.” Varric shrugged and gave a short nod in Cullen’s direction.

 

“One would think the Templars learned from what happened.” Aveline snorted. “Instead, he’s being watched like a criminal and the other mages keep sneaking of, one by one, when the Templars aren’t looking. I wonder how many of them actually know some healing spells and would be willing to help if the Templars wouldn’t be such assholes.”

 

Varric chuckled. “Straight to the point, as always. Anders suggested I try and find food for these poor sods. Any suggestions?”

 

“What about the Hanged Man? Or did you lot eat everything? Maybe the Gallows as well.”

 

“No, we did not. I think. I shall check on the Hanged Man’s larder first,” the dwarf agreed with a nod. “Could bring Isabela up to speed while I’m at it.”

 

“The whore is still there?” Aveline raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Someone had to stay behind and make sure the place isn’t raided during our absense. Besides, we left some personal things behind when we dashed off to look for Fenris.”

 

“Is he alright?” she asked, concerned.

 

“Yes. Anders found him just in time and he’s recovering at the Dalish camp as we speak. He and Blondie had a bit of a fall-out, though.”

 

Aveline huffed. “And that surprises you?”

 

“Now, now, don’t be mean, Lady Man-Hands.” Varric winked at her. “You yourself should know how difficult love can be sometimes.”

 

The Guards Captain blushed and cleared her throat while she glanced at Donnic. “You win this one,” she agreed. “And since I would like to speak to Anders about something, uh…personal, later, I suppose I should not be patronizing.”

 

“He’ll make a good mid-wife when the time comes.”

 

“How did you – argh!” Aveline threw her hands up, startling Donnic. “Is nothing in this city secret?”

 

Varric barked out a laugh. “Not for me it isn’t.”

 

He felt Anders’ slender hand on his shoulder and peeked up.

 

“I’ll be right back,” the mage told him. “I’ll need some more water. There was a well nearby, right? Hope it’s still intact.”

  
“Don’t wander off alone,” Varric admonished while Aveline confirmed the well was, indeed, still intact.

 

“I’ll be _fine_ , Varric. Maker!” Anders stalked off muttering and Varric rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s a grown man, dwarf,” Aveline pointed out dryly.

 

“He’s also a mage surrounded by Templars.”

 

She sighed. “Alright. You win that one, too.”

 

 

~*~

 

It was the insistent chatter of a child that woke Hawke from his slumber. His sleepy mind needed a moment to remind him where he was, how he’d gotten here and how they came to a chattering child that was currently asking all sorts of question, answered by the low rumble of Fenris’ voice. He sounded strained, like he was really clinging to his patience.

 

“I do wonder if Fenris is really cut out for parenthood,” Zevran murmured against his skin and Hawke chuckled sleepily while the Antivan pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck.

 

“I’m not sure Fenris is actually planning on it,” Hawke said.

 

“He seems smitten with the little one, yes?”

 

“I think that’s because she looks like Anders. And he certainly is smitten with Anders.”

 

Zevran chuckled. “Not so much at the moment, it would seem, but I do see your point.”

 

A lazy, sleepy smile spread on Hawke’s face and he slowly turned his head enough to find Zevran’s lips with his own for a slow, languid kiss that seem to take the assassin by surprise, if the stiffening of his spine was anything to go by. One of Hawke’s large hands caressed over the elf’s back soothingly and finally, the warrior opened his eyes and met Zevran’s slightly curious gaze.

 

“What?” Hawke asked with an amused smile.

 

“You confuse me,” Zevran admitted with a frown.

  
“And I take it you _hate_ feeling confused.”

 

The Antivan huffed and rolled away from Hawke, limbs stretching as he yawned. “It would seem our companions are getting ready to leave. We should do the same.”

 

Hawke rolled his eyes but decided not to push, so he agreed and got off the bed. His back protested for a moment and he wished for his big, comfortable bed he’d had at the estate. Hawke made a mental note to at least check on it and see if _anything_ had survived the fire.

 

 

The reactions they got as they stepped out of the tent together, fully dressed and ready to go, were various. Merrill’s eyes widened in surprise and there was a small, teasing smile on her lips. Mael merely rolled his eyes and Fenris – just openly stared, gaping, before he caught himself and made a face at Hawke instead.

  
“Good morning!” Merrill chirped. “We were just wondering if we should wake the two of you.”

 

“Apologies,” Zevran said politely and bowed a little, while Hawke shuffled his feet. “It seems the past few days took it out of me finally, and Hawke was considerate and did not want to wake me until I got enough rest.”

 

Mael snorted and shook his head before stalking off.

 

Fenris’ eyebrows shot up when Hawke looked at him, a bashful smile on his lips. Lianni was once again in Fenris’ arms, her thin arms wrapped around the Tevinter elf’s neck, legs wrapped around Fenris’ torso. Hawke took a moment to take in her appearance and couldn’t help but openly smile. She was cute.

  
“Anything else I should know?” Fenris grumped.

 

Hawke shrugged and made his way over to the annoyed elf. Before Fenris had a chance to react – or a free hand to do so, as he was holding onto the little girl wrapped around him – Hawke lifted a hand and gave him a quick smack on the head.

 

Fenris scowled at his friend. “What was that for?”

 

“I have been wanting to do that for a while,” Hawke stated with a grin.

 

“What happeneds to your faces?” Lianni asked.

 

Hawke blinked. “My…face? Why? What’s wrong with my face?”

 

Lianni pointed at the thick beard curiously. “Why you keeps animals in your faces?”

 

A throaty laugh bubbled out of Fenris before the elf could stop himself while Lianni reached out further and tugged a little on the beard, making Hawke wince.

 

“Careful, Lianni…it might bite,” Mael told the little girl and Lianni pulled back immediately, eyes wide.

 

“Does it?” she asked Fenris.

  
“It hasn’t bitten me yet,” Fenris managed to choke out, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter now. “I’d bite back.”

 

Lianni made a face. “But it’s so hairys!”

 

Hawke snorted before breaking laughing himself.

 

“It’s better than playing with spiderlings,” Fenris pointed out dryly and Lianni pouted.

 

“It was a nice spider!” she exclaimed while Fenris began to walk, finally beginning the path back to Kirkwall.

 

“You let her play with a spiderling?” Hawke asked. “Fenris, that is irresponsible!”

 

“I didn’t _let_ her do anything, she snuck off while I slept and I found her with one,” Fenris grunted. Ahead of him, Mael and Zevran were chuckling.

 

“Rule number one of fatherhood – do not let your daughter play with tainted creatures,” Hawke teased. Fenris’ ears flushed hot red at that.

 

“I’m am not – that’s ridiculous!” he sputtered while Lianni gazed at him curiously. “She is not my --!” Fenris gazed down and swallowed hard as he gazed into Lianni’s bright green eyes. “ – daughter…” he finished in a mutter. “Just a being that’s confused and does not belong in our world.”

 

“Did Marethari say anything about bringing her back to the Fade?” Mael asked.

 

“She did not.”

 

Hawke joined Fenris as soon as he was done saying goodbye to Marethari and Merrill, still grinning from ear to ear as he glanced at the positively flustered Tevinter elf.

 

“You look good with a child, though,” he told Fenris. “Would have never thought.”

 

“Just drop it, Hawke,” Fenris growled. “I have other things to worry about.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Fenris shot him a glare. “I made Anders run from me. _Again_. I am carrying around a child that I don’t know what to expect of. I don’t even know _what_ she is!” He glanced down and Lianni blinked at him. “Or _why_ she is.”

 

A good part of the way was spent with Fenris telling Hawke what suggestions and theses Marethari and Merrill had offered concerning Lianni. When Fenris wasn’t carrying her, she was running ahead of them, taking in the surroundings with excitement and pointing at random animals appearing. One time, she ran so far ahead, they lost sight of her and Zevran ended up tracking her down and bringing her back to Fenris.

 

“Whatever she is, my friend, she should not be running around by herself, yes?” Zevran had told him before thrusting Lianni into Fenris’ arms and stalking off again.

 

“And you sleep with… _that_?” Fenris groused.

 

“It’s not – “ Hawke cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “It’s not like that.”

 

“Isn’t it.”

 

The man laughed. “I actually have no idea what it is, to be honest.”

 

Fenris couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “A feeling I am familiar with,” he said.

 

“Except you didn’t have to expect Anders to vanish into thin air one morning.”

 

“It would seem to me the Warden Commander and the assassin have decided to stay for a while longer, though I wonder about their reasons,” Fenris pointed out. “I thought their business with Kirkwall was done once they investigated the Warden prison?”

 

“Ah, yes…that prison…” Hawke offered a crooked smile. “Another thing I ought to tell you about.”

 

“More bad news?” Fenris grunted while he readjusted his hold on Lianni.

  
“Where are we goings?” Lianni asked.

  
“Back to Kirkwall,” Fenris told her. “Or what’s left of it.”

 

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Hawke murmured.

 

“So I was told,” the elf replied in kind and inclined his head. He’d been told to prepare for the worst. Fenris wondered if that only concerned the state of the city, or if there was something worse to fear than Kirkwall’s ruins.

 

 

~*~

 

With a grunt, Anders lifted the filled bucket out of the well and put it on the ground. He cast a tired glance at the pile of yet unfilled water skins and flasks. When he had collected any flask or skin he could find earlier and taken off to the well, despite Varric’s continued protests, Anders had not thought about how he was going to carry them all back to where people waited for them. He wasn’t too far from the gates but he probably would have to go at least two to three times.

 

He took a moment to roll his shoulders and winced when his neck cracked. He’d spent hours kneeling and lowering his head while he worked, or to ignore the Templars wandering around, and it was starting to take its toll.

  
“Some healer you are,” he murmured to himself with a humorless smile and reached for the next flask to fill.

 

He could sense the man approaching before a shadow told him he was no longer alone. His magic hummed in response to the lyrium coursing in the man’s veins and Anders felt his throat constrict, movements faltering.

 

The smite hit him before Anders even managed to get on his feet and forced him to the ground and the air out of his lungs. A hand closed around his throat and Anders choked, legs kicking instinctively at the attacker who spun him around and held him in place. Amber eyes snapped up and widened at the familiar face before him. It was partly burned and the flesh would soon begin to fester and foul if not treated. It made the pleased grin on the Templar’s face look even more disgusting than it usually was.

 

“And who do we have here?” Karras murmured. “The apostate from the sewers who likes to cause trouble.”

 

“Look what the Gallows spit out,” Anders croaked back. His head was spinning from the smite, but he could still feel his connection to the Fade, albeit weak. It was reassuring. Since Alistair had first smote, then silenced him, Anders had wondered how he’d react if an actual Templar, who took lyrium, did it to him.

 

“Have I ever told you that I’ve contacted a good friend of mine at Kinloch Hold?” Karras asked, grin widening as his hand tightened a little more around Anders’ throat. The mage choked and struggled once again. “He told me all about you.”

 

“Let go of me,” Anders wheezed.

 

Karras sighed and grabbed the blond’s hair with his free hand, pulling hard. A strangled shout escaped Anders’ throat when he was pulled up and on his knees. His scalp burned and tears gathered in his eyes from the stinging pain.

 

“He also told me how beautiful you look on your knees,” Karras sneered, “and how prettily you can beg.” His hand moved from Anders’ throat to his chin, forcing the mage to look up to him. Anders growled at the Templar. Vengeance reacted immediately, pushing forward and yet, Anders willed him to remain quiet.

  
“Anything else?” Anders snapped.

 

Karras smirked and ran a dirty, blood-caked thumb over his lips. Despite the additional pain it caused, Anders turned his head away and hissed when Karras pulled harder on his hair in return.

 

“Indeed. He mentioned your very talented mouth.”

 

Anders huffed. “Did he also tell you what I do with Templars who get a little too close for my liking?”

 

Karras pulled hard again, forcing the mage’s head back, exposing his throat. “From what I heard, you were _more_ than compliant in solitary. I’m afraid, though, that my brothers were not thorough enough in teaching you some manners, apostate.”

 

“Same goes for your mother.” Anders grabbed the wrist of the hand that was threatening to tear his hair out and sent a Spirit bolt directly through Karras’ body.

 

With a howl, the Templar let go and staggered backwards. Anders remained on the ground and carefully touched his fingertips to his scalp, the searing pain bringing more tears to his eyes.

 

“Son of a broodmother,” he cursed the Templar while telling himself not to curl up. Not many things actually hurt Anders, but his scalp was sensitive to extremely rough treatment.

 

Karras, having recovered from the attack, stared wide-eyed at the apostate on the ground.

 

“Didn’t like that, did you?” Anders hissed. “Stay away from me or you’ll regret it.”

 

Karras growled and hurried toward him. Anders scrambled backward, vision blurry from the unwanted tears. He could barely concentrate enough to call up a fireball when Karras’ hands grabbed him again, one in his air, the other closing around his throat again. His body stiffened from the sudden oxygen cut-off and Anders grabbled for the Templar’s arms and shoulders, trying to push him away. He could feel Vengeace howl and snarl in the back of his consciousness and Anders gasped helplessly.

 

Wet, hot liquid suddenly splattered across his face and into his mouth. The hands assaulting him let go and Anders fell backward, choking on the coppery taste tinged with lyrium. Gloved hands grabbed his shoulder and arm and hoisted him up.

  
“Are you alright?”

 

Anders blinked at Aveline, who looked at him with concern.

  
“Answer me,” she demanded, shaking him a little. “Are you alright?”

 

Anders spit on the sandy ground and nodded. He glanced past Aveline to find Karras lying on the ground. His throat was cut and he was staring into the grey sky with unseeing eyes. Anders returned his gaze to Aveline.

 

“Y-you killed him,” he stammered.

 

“What was I supposed to do?” Aveline snarled. “Let him choke you, you blighted idiot?”

 

“Don’t think choking was what he had in mind,” Anders grunted out as he reached up and rubbed his throat.

 

“So I heard,” she agreed and looked at the dead Templar with disgust.

 

“Thank you,” the mage murmured.

 

Aveline scowled at him for a second before her features softened. “I will never lose a word about your diatribes against the Chantry and the Templars again,” she muttered and Anders blinked in surprise. “We should get rid of his body.”

 

Anders watched as Aveline collected a good part of the filled flasks and water skins.

  
“Why did you come after me?” Anders asked.

  
“Varric thought you were taking awfully long.”

 

“And you thought I was up to no good again, right?”

 

Aveline made a face at the mage. “Actually, I _really_ came here to see if you were alright. You have been working on the injured since the crack of dawn and you’re exhausted. And there are Templars everywhere, not knowing what to do with themselves.”

 

A smile slowly spread on the mage’s lips. “Why, Aveline, were you concerned?”

 

“I may have not supported your continued rage against anything to do with the Chantry, Anders, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping an eye out for you during the past years,” Aveline stated, slightly annoyed. “If anything happens to you under my watch, I will have to deal with your rabid elf lover and I can certainly think of more pleasant things.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Maker knows why that fool is in love with _you_ , of all people.”

 

The smile left Anders’ lips at that.

 

“I know, you screwed up, _again_. Didn’t stop him the last few times, did it?” Aveline huffed. “You will return to the gates with me and stay there. I’ll have my men come here and finish this up.”

 

Wordlessly, Anders went to collect the rest and trotted after Aveline, who steadily marched toward the gates. He noticed her throwing glances across her shoulder, as if to make sure he was actually following. When their gazes met once, she blushed and whipped her head around. Anders chuckled and shook his head.

 

“I’ll just blame the hormones, Aveline, how about that?”

 

“Hawke can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?” Aveline groused and sped up her steps. Anders turned around one last time to cast a fireball at the dead Templar before hurrying to catch up with the Guard Captain.

 


	14. FOURTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris meet again in Kirkwall...and let off some steam. Because sometimes, one simply needs that.

Fenris stared wordlessly at the place once known as Kirkwall.

 

He’d known the city would be bad off after the first explosion, the one that tore apart Hightown, but Fenris had not anticipated finding so much destruction. Nothing was recognizable of the place he’d called home for the past almost seven years.

 

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed as Fenris stared, mouth agape and disbelief in his emerald green eyes.

 

“Is that Kirkwalls?” Lianni asked. “It’s nots very prettys.”

 

“It never was,” Hawke said humorlessly. “But it used to look a little better.”

 

“I can’t believe that all this was caused by the explosive Anders made,” Fenris murmured.

  
“Neither can I,” Mael agreed quietly. “I have been thinking the same. His original plan was to blow up the Chantry, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t have needed that much to achieve his goal.”

 

“So, you think Meredith got her hands on something else?” Hawke asked curiously. “That certainly would make our resident healer feel a little better.”

 

“I am sure investigations will be made. The viscounts of the Free Marches will want to know what happened.”

 

“So will the Chantry and the Templar order,” Fenris gritted out.

 

“I don’t like Templars,” Lianni whispered and Fenris glanced at her.

 

“You don’t?” he asked gently and Lianni shook her head.

 

“They hurts people.”

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at the two of them. “Another of Anders’ memories, I take it?”

 

“I doubt she has actually dealt with a Templar, yet,” Fenris agreed. They were not too far from the gates now. Fenris’ sharp elven eyes could spot the crowd gathered there, guarded by Templars and Guardsmen alike. Some sat by themselves, some had gathered in small groups, offering each other comfort. Thin billows of smoke still rose from the ruins.

 

They passed a well and Mael took a moment to refill their water skins. Hawke’s eyebrows shot up when they spotted a burned Templar, only a few feet away from the well. His skin had literally melted off his face and he was all raw skin clad in metal. The pool of blood spoke for itself.

 

“The blood hasn’t even dried,” Zevran noted. “He must have been killed recently.”

 

“Mages?” Fenris asked.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe he was a victim to the explosions and someone decided to deliver him from the agonizing pain, yes?”

 

Lianni whimpered and buried her face against Fenris’ chest. The elf immediately turned away from the dead man. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I am used to seeing such things, but you are not.”

 

“Let’s go,” Mael murmured as he handed out the filled water skins.

 

 

The closer they got to the city gates, the thicker the air became. Fenris coughed and made a face at the different smells, burned flesh being one of them.

 

“I take it most residents died?” he asked Hawke, who was equally grimacing.

 

“Mostly in Hightown. Lowtown seemed mostly intact. The Hanged Man actually still stands, can you believe it?”

 

Fenris snorted.

 

“We have not taken a look around Darktown yet, but since people sought shelter in Anders’ clinic, I suppose it has taken the least damage.” Hawke sighed. “I don’t know how many dead we have to mourn but Hightown is…really bad off. I want to go back to my home later and see if anything survived the fire.”

 

“What about your servants?”

 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see them anywhere when we were here, and then we took off again to find you, so I had no time to actually look for them.”

 

Fenris nodded. “Then I shall look with you. I just…need to find my mage first.”

 

Hawke shot him a smirk. “That would be good.”

 

“And a safe place for Lianni to wait at while we search the city…” Fenris looked around. “Or what’s left of it.”

 

“We could leave her with Isabela at the Hanged Man,” Hawke suggested.

 

“No,” the elf grunted disapprovingly.

 

“Broody! Hawke!” Varric waved at them with a grin. “Showing your kid her future hometown, Fenris?”

 

“Ser dwarf!” Lianni chirped and Fenris chuckled while shooting the dwarf in question a murderous glare.

 

“Varric,” Mael greeted quietly and Varric answered with a small bow.

  
“Warden Commander! Zevran. Aveline has not yet found a safe shelter for the survivors but she sent out messengers to the rest of the Free Marches, requesting for help.”

 

“A fine idea,” Mael said with a nod. “I will speak to her about finding a messenger that will deliver something to Denerim for me.”

 

“So, we’ll stay for a while longer, yes?” Zevran asked with a smirk. “Wasn’t aware you have such a hard time saying goodbye, my friend.”

 

Mael made a rude gesture at the Antivan. “I am not. I just have plans, Zev.”

 

“When don’t you?” Zevran was chuckling as he followed Mael through the crowd and toward Aveline, who was still overlooking the place.

 

“Where’s the mage?” Fenris asked Varric.

 

Varric gestured vaguely. “Somewhere over there. He’s been working since the early morning hours. Maybe you can finally make him get some rest, Broody.”

 

Fenris sighed and slowly lowered Lianni to the ground. “Can you keep an eye on her for a moment?”

 

“Of course!” Varric offered the little girl his sweetest smile. “Would you like to hear a story, Lianni?”

 

Lianni nodded excitedly and Fenris glanced up to Hawke. “You make sure whatever story he tells is suitable for her age.”

 

“I will…except I have no idea how…old she is?” Hawke glanced at Lianni.

 

“Not old enough for most of Varric’s stories,” Fenris grunted out as he walked off.

 

“Hey now, I wouldn’t corrupt your kid,” Varric protested, laughing when Fenris shot him another glare.

 

 

Fenris stumbled through the crowd, eyes scanning the area for any sign of the mage. Seeing the amount of Templars among the fugitives made Fenris uneasy and he wasn’t the one who had to worry about them.

 

A lot of the fugitives were children, Fenris noticed. Some were clinging to adults, their parents no doubt, but the greater part sat hunched, looking terrified, hungry and so very lonely. Who would look after them, Fenris wondered, if they had lost their families? Kirkwall’s orphanage had already been overly busy, not enough people to look after the children and certainly not enough food to feed them.

 

Someone deliberately stepped into his path and Fenris growled in annoyance and looked up. He made a face at Cullen, who was staring back expectantly.

 

“You’re alive,” Cullen said in lieu of a greeting. “I was wondering, since I did not see you at the Gallows with Hawke and the others.”

 

“I guess one could say I was _indisposed_ ,” Fenris replied edgily. “What do you want?”

 

Cullen regarded the elf for a moment before nodding his head to the right. Fenris glanced in the direction and held back a sigh of relief when he spotted whom he was looking for. He’d recognize that blond hair anywhere. Nodding his thanks to the Templar, Fenris stalked off, his steps slowing the closer he got to Anders. The mage was busy fixing a little girl’s arm; it was broken and heavily burned and she was whimpering while her mother whispered soothing words.

 

“Give her this,” Fenris heard Anders say once he was done with the girl’s arm. He handed the mother a bottle. “It’s a healing potion that will take away most of the pain, so she can relax and hopefully get some sleep.”

 

“Maker bless you, healer,” the mother murmured tiredly. “Thank you so much.”

 

“I’ll see if I can find some food for her as well.”

 

Fenris chose that moment to reach out, letting his hand caress over the back of Anders’ head, only to pull back when the blond hissed at the touch, spine stiffening and spun around.

 

Their eyes met and Fenris could see the apprehension in the mage’s eyes while Anders reached up and touched his fingertips to his scalp, wincing a little.

 

“Hello, Fenris,” he greeted hesitantly.

 

Fenris frowned at him. “What happened?” he asked.

 

Anders shook his head and got up before gesturing for Fenris to follow him. He led them away from the fugitives and Cullen’s prying eyes. Once they found a spot Anders deemed safe, he turned around to face Fenris again and the elf snarled when he became aware of the pale bruising on Anders’ neck.

  
“Mage, what happened?” Fenris hissed.

 

“Had an unfortunate meeting with Karras.” Anders shrugged and glanced around quickly before calling on his healing magic, soothing away the agony in his scalp and healing the bruising.

 

“Karras?” The elf growled. “Where is that bastard?”

 

“He’s dead.” Anders sighed when the pain disappeared. “Did you just get here?”

  
“A moment ago, yes.” Fenris lowered his gaze, staring at his wiggling toes. “Mage – _Anders_ ,  I…I wish to apologize.”

 

The blond stared at him.

 

“I did not mean to yell at you or…chase you away in such manner,” Fenris added quietly.

 

“Such manner? _Oh_ , you mean telling me to _get out of your sight_?”

 

“Anders –“

 

“It’s not like I didn’t expect that reaction from you, Fenris,” Anders said tiredly. “I knew you’d be upset. I did actually expect a lot worse than what you said, which – wasn’t all that much.”

 

“Then why leave, especially without letting me know?” Fenris asked.

 

“I wasn’t hurt by what you said, Fenris.” Anders offered the elf a sad smile. “Not as much as I would have been a couple weeks ago. It was…the way you looked at me in that moment.”

 

“The way I looked at you?” Fenris blinked.

 

“We have known each other for years, Fenris, and we’ve bickered and fought for most of them. But even when we first met each other and you found out I was a mage, you have never looked at me with so much disgust.” The mage sighed. “You needed time to cool down and I needed time to try and forget seeing that expression on your face.”

 

“I apologize,” the elf said once again, feeling helpless to say anything more, anything else that would convey how he felt. “I was not aware I did.” He lifted his gaze and looked at Anders. “It was not my intention to give the impression that you disgust me. You do not.” Fenris reached out and brushed away the blond strands that were covering the vallaslin on the mage’s cheek. He cupped the cheek and caressed his thumb over it; the vallaslin shimmered in the pale sunlight. Fenris smiled at the sight. “I’m disappointed, maybe,” he murmured. “Certainly worried. But never disgusted, Anders.”

 

Anders leaned into the touch, a shy smile on his lips.

 

“Hawke wants to go to his estate, see if anything survived the fire. I wish to do the same concerning our home.” Fenris stretched his neck to bring his face closer to Anders’. “Will you accompany me?”

 

The shy smile turned into an amused one. “Fenris, are you giving me the puppy eyes?” Anders asked, chuckling.

 

“There are _no_ puppy eyes,” Fenris growled, but he was smirking. “Is that a yes, mage?”

 

“When have I ever said no to you, blighted elf?” Anders huffed and Fenris’ smirk widened before he pulled down the mage’s head for a kiss. Anders hummed against the elf’s lips, hands coming to rest on Fenris’ hips.

 

“Did you bring…her with you?” Anders asked when they broke apart.

 

“Lianni? Yes. She is with Hawke and Varric at the moment. I know she makes you uneasy.”

 

Anders thought about that for a moment while reaching up to tie his hair the way he usually did.  “Her name was the first thing that…had me taken aback a little.”

 

“Her name?”

 

“When I was still at Kinloch Hold and with Karl, he and I talked about children.”

 

Fenris frowned.

 

“Not about having children. Together, that is.” Anders chuckled. “We spoke about how they are taken away from their parents, if they happen to be mages, and brought somewhere far away. If not mages themselves, the Chantry raises them to be wary of mages. It was obvious we’d never have children, Maker preserve us, but we talked about names.” He paused. “Lianni was the name I chose if I’d ever have a daughter.”

 

“If this was stored away in your memory, that explains where Lianni got her name from. Justice would have known,” Fenris murmured.

 

“I haven’t thought of it again since that night.” Anders rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension in his neck. “While I was in the Circle, it would have been of no use. When I was finally free of the Circle, I carried the taint and apparently, it does a number on your fertility.”

 

“Marethari and Merrill believe that Lianni is –“

 

“I don’t want to hear it, Fenris,” Anders interrupted gently.

 

Fenris sighed. “I know the circumstances of how she came to be are a mystery, and neither can we say for sure _what_ she is or what she may possibly become.” Fenris shrugged. “But believe it or not, Anders, she is just…a child.”

 

Anders looked doubtful at that. “Why are you so at ease with her?”

 

“Why are you so angry? She hasn’t done anything.”

 

The mage snorted. “She apparently comes from the Fade. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. What I know is, she is somehow connected to Justice. Remember, the ‘demon’ you so despised when he was still sharing my body? That _thing_ I had to fight against in the Fade?”

 

“Mage –“

 

“But _then_ a little girl, shaped in every deceiving way possible, somehow escapes the Fade and enters the mortal world and _that’s_ alright with you?”

 

Fenris growled. “I certainly find that less worrisome than _you_ turning to blood magic, Anders!”

 

A humorless chuckle crossed the blond’s lips at that and he threw his hands up as if he was saying ‘I give up’. “Here we go then, Fenris. Would you like to add anything? Maybe compare me to Danarius again?”

 

“You will cease this nonsense, mage!” Fenris snapped.

 

“ _Stop_ telling me what to do, Fenris!” Anders yelled. “I’m sick of it.”

 

That took the wind out of Fenris’ sails and he stared at Anders, eyes wide in surprise.

 

“Why don’t you shout the word ‘mage’ a little louder, I’m not sure every blighted Templar around here heard you yet!” Anders continued and gestured around. “Have my head on a pike, Fenris. Maybe then I will finally stop _displeasing_ you so Maker be damned much?”

 

“Where does this come from, all of a sudden?” Fenris asked, confused, but he kept his voice low this time.

 

Anders groaned and clutched his head. “I told you it’ll be a long time before I stop apologizing,” he murmured. “Sorry, I was just – forget I said that.”

 

Carefully, the elf approached the blond. Fenris put one hand on Anders’ arm and grasped him gently by the elbow. “Anders, sit down,” he murmured. “Please?” he added, as an afterthought and was relieved when the mage listened, slowly letting himself sink to the ground with a sigh. Fenris crouched before him, cradling the mage’s face in his palms.

 

“I apologize,” Fenris murmured when he was sure Anders was listening. “I did not come here to argue with you, mage. I realize you trusted me enough to tell me that you did something you knew I would not approve of, rather than keep it a secret from me or have someone else tell me. I should have honored that, not reacted so poorly.” He brought their foreheads together and felt Anders sigh. “I apologize for ever having compared you to Danarius. It is true that I seem to look for similarities. I have no experience with relationships other than those I have gained so far. It is difficult for me to see the differences, but I _am_ learning. And if you truly feel I am domineering over you, I shall apologize for that as well.”

 

“Don’t go into Bartrand’s mansion, it may be dangerous. Don’t leave the bed, you may just attempt to run away from me again. Don’t go with Mael to the Warden prison; don’t go _anywhere_ alone.” Anders’ lips quirked into a tired smile. “Don’t die on me, don’t do _this_ , don’t do _that_ , don’t use blood magic, eat more, don’t talk of your past lovers, don’t let Vengeance out to play…” He chuckled. “Maker, I am cranky, aren’t I?”

 

Cranky, but at least the mage hadn’t lost his sense of humor, Fenris thought as he smiled at Anders in return. “But you do make a good point,” the elf admitted. “Though I would hope you know that I am not…”

 

“You just want to protect me,” Anders interrupted gently. “I know. If our roles had been reversed at the cave, I’d probably be the same.” He paused, nose scrunching up. “Actually, in my head, at least, I often am no different where you are concerned.”

 

Fenris chuckled and wrapped his arms around the tired mage. “You need to rest,” he murmured. “Will you sit down with us for a while and eat something? Then we shall visit the ruins of our home and see what can be retrieved that hasn’t burned to ashes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come haunt me on [tumblr](http://lamentaslair.tumblr.com/) but beware, my blog turned into utter craziness.


	15. FIFTEEN

Lianni was openly staring at Anders with that curious, innocent look that she wore on her face, most of the time. Eyes wide and questioning, bottom lip stuck out in something of a half-pout; occasionally, she’d play with her hair or the hem of her dress, like she was pondering what to say to the mage.

 

Anders, in return, was pointedly trying to ignore her. Occasionally, he’d glance at her, a deep frown on his face and each time he did, there was the beginning of a brilliant smile on Lianni’s face that disappeared as soon as the mage lowered his gaze and forced himself to concentrate on something else. If Fenris spoke to Lianni or answered one of her questions – of which she seemed to have an endless repertoire – Anders would ignore them both until the elf focused on him again.

 

Hawke watched them with amusement and found himself reminded of someone trying to approach a rather feisty cat – Anders being the ‘cat’. He wondered if the mage would be amused about that, since he liked cats, but he didn’t dare try his luck and test the mage’s humor today. Not after he had been assaulted by a Templar, tired himself out seeing to injured people and having another argument with Fenris today. Anders might love him like the big brother he never had, but he was still a mage with a lot of power at his fingertips and Hawke wasn’t going to take chances and get his ass set on fire.

 

Guardsmen and Templars had been working hard during their absence, Hawke noticed as they trotted down the street toward Fenris’ mansion. The bodies of the dead had been moved out of the way or even removed completely. Torn flags and banners had been draped over those who had not been removed yet.

 

Hawke watched Anders steal another glance at Lianni. This time, the little girl didn’t try to smile. Instead, she looked thoughtful.

 

And Anders, just like the cat Hawke compared him to in his mind, eventually got curious.

 

“What?”

 

Lianni blinked.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Anders asked quietly. Even though Lianni’s presence made him uneasy, Hawke could the see the mage try to remain calm and civil. It was a start.

 

“You looks sads,” Lianni replied meekly. “Whys are you sads?”

 

“I am not –“ Anders paused. “Well, maybe a little.”

 

“Whys?” she repeated.

 

“Because what happened to Kirkwall makes me sad,” Anders explained.

 

Lianni looked around. “Because peoples gots hurt?” she asked. “And everythings got brokens?”

 

“I – yes.”

 

Next to him, Fenris allowed himself the hint of a smile at Anders’ attempt to have a conversation with the child.

 

“Why dids Kirkwalls get broken?”

 

Hawke and Fenris shared an amused glance. It was Anders’ turn to be subjected to Lianni’s seemingly inexhaustible curiosity.

 

“Because bad people blew it up.”

  
“But whys dids they dos that?” Lianni frowned at Anders. “What dids Kirkwalls do to thems?”

 

Anders blinked at her. “Kirkwall did nothing. But the bad people don’t like mages and the leader of the bad people thought if she does this, she can ki – make the mages go away entirely.”

 

“What’s mages?”

 

“You…” Anders looked dumbfounded. “You don’t know what mages are?”

 

She shook her head. “Are they bad?”

 

“No! No, mages aren’t bad, they…” Anders paused. “You said you were in the Circle before. How can you not know what mages are?”

 

“Anders,” Fenris admonished gently. “She was never really there, remember?”

 

But the mage’s curiosity was aroused and he walked closer to her. “You do know what the Circle is, right?”

 

Lianni thought for a moment, then nodded. “It’s the places where the nice peoples are not alloweds to go anywheres. Ands there are Templars.”

 

“The nice people are the mages.”

 

“Why woulds the bads people not likes them?” Lianni looked indignant at the thought.

 

“They say we are dangerous,” Anders explained. Hawke was surprised how patient the mage suddenly was.

 

“You are a mages?”

 

Anders stopped walking and knelt down next to Lianni, turning his upper body to shield them from prying  and flexed his fingers a little. Lianni, in return, leaned in and looked at the mage’s hand curiously. A surprised gasp escaped her at the gentle spark of magic in Anders’ palm, followed by a small flame dancing across it. She lifted a hand to touch it and Anders pulled away.

 

Lianni pouted at him.

 

“It’s too hot,” Anders said. “You’d burn your fingers.”

 

“But your hands did nots burn,” she protested.

 

“I can’t hurt myself with my own magic. I can hurt others, though.”

 

“Buts why woulds you wants to hurt others?”

 

Anders visibly bristled and Hawke bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “I don’t _want_ to hurt anyone!” the mage groused. “But I have to, sometimes. The bad people, so they won’t do more bad things.”

 

Fenris chuckled and Hawke watched Anders’ cheeks color, while Lianni nodded, like the mage made perfect sense.

 

“I wonder,” Fenris murmured as he picked Lianni up to carry her the rest of the way. “Were you like her? When you were little?”

 

Amber eyes regarded the elf curiously. “What?”

 

“I keep looking at her and wonder what you were like, when you were but a little boy,” Fenris clarified. “Did you constantly ask questions, like she does? Were you cheeky or shy?”

 

“I can’t remember.”

 

“What about your mother tongue?” Hawke asked, deciding to finally join in the conversation. “Do you still speak it?”

 

Anders grimaced. “Did you ever _hear_ me speak in it, Garrett?” he muttered.

 

“Ah, bad choice of topic, isn’t it?”

 

“Your childhood stories are certainly more entertaining.”

 

“Because most of them are embarrassing.” Hawke grinned and Anders chuckled.

 

“The only embarrassing things I could tell you stem from my time as apprentice,” Anders eventually said with a smile. “Maybe from the Grey Wardens as well. And I may or may not have embarrassed myself a few times teaching the apostates who joined the order, or when the Circle asked me to teach them about what we found out about the Architect.”

  
“Teaching?” Hawke’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t see you teaching anyone, Anders.”

 

“He’s really good at teaching me to read and write, though,” Fenris offered with a smirk. “He’s got more patience than you, Hawke.”

  
“I’ll have you know that I can be an excellent teacher, Garrett.” Anders grinned at his friend.

 

Hawke raised his hands in a defensive manner. “Hey, hey, I do not doubt that. I was taught at home, like my siblings. It’s just…whenever I think of teachers, I picture those elderly men and women…you know, like Orsino? Not someone my age or younger.”

 

Anders frowned. “I’m older than you, Garrett.”

 

“By how many months?” Hawke asked teasingly and Anders laughed.

  
“A couple years is more like it,” the mage replied, eyes twinkling in amusement.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I know how old I am, Garrett.”

 

Hawke narrowed his eyes at the mage. “How old?”

 

Anders smirked. “That shall forever remain a mystery.”

 

“Oh, come _on_!”

 

“We’re there,” Fenris interrupted Hawke’s indignant whining and stopped walking.

 

Both Anders and Hawke fell silent at that and joined Fenris in staring at what once used to be the elf’s mansion. Anders swallowed hard at its sight – when he’d returned to Kirkwall, it had at least been somewhat recognizable, ablaze and with most walls still intact. By now, the building had partly collapsed, the entrance hall laid bare, showing the staircase that led up to their private rooms. Burnt wood was pilling in the center of the hall; the armchair near the fireplace was a pile of ashes save for one armrest.

 

Lianni was taking her turn looking at each men. “What’s wrongs?” she whispered, like she was afraid to startle them.

 

“This used to be my home…Anders’ and my home,” Fenris explained quietly, nodding at the mansion’s ruins. “Omnia abiit.”

 

“Maker, I can only imagine what state my home is in,” Hawke murmured.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Anders whispered.

 

“Finis excuso,” Fenris told him. “None of this is your fault, mage.”

 

Hawke and Anders followed the elf when he carefully climbed over what was left of the exterior wall, crossed the ruined main hall and carefully made their way up the staircase. The banister was sooted, the stairs covered in ashes and dust. Here and there, Anders was able to spot a piece of paper or fabric that hadn’t burned away completely.

  
“Watch where you are going,” Hawke told Fenris.

 

“I’m not the one wearing heavy armor,” the elf pointed out.

 

“If the staircase collapses while we’re on it, I’ll be lamenting the fact I’m not wearing my warden armor,” Anders muttered.

 

“I suggest trying not to get crushed by something heavy again, so you can use your magic to free us,” Fenris remarked dryly and Anders grimaced at him. Hawke chuckled and shook his head.

 

“It’s bigs,” Lianni said as she looked around, arms and legs once again tightly wrapped around Fenris’ body. “Dids you gets losts here often?”

 

“No,” Fenris grunted.

  
“He got lost in mine,” Hawke said with a grin. “Twice.”

 

“He did?” Anders asked. “Why have I not heard about this before?”

 

“Because I told Hawke what will happen if he told anyone,” the elf growled and shot his friend a dark look across his shoulders. Hawke laughed nervously.

 

Once they had reached the top of the staircase, Fenris decided to not bother with the room he used to occupy before Anders had moved in, and made his way straight for their former bedroom. Once he reached the badly burnt door, he set Lianni down and carefully stepped inside.

 

The first thing he noticed were the burnt curtains by the still open window. The air had probably fueled the fire, Fenris thought. He usually never kept any windows open when he left the mansion, but that morning, their bedroom had smelled of sex. They had moved their amorous activities from his old bedroom to this one, the night before Anders had left for the Grey Warden prison.

 

The bed, to his surprise, was still standing. The sheets and pillows were gone and the mattress was only partially recognizable anymore. Same for the rug in front of the bed.

 

Anders pushed past him and went to the table on the bed’s right side. He opened the drawer and peered inside, then sighed. Slowly, he reached for his diary and found it was still intact. He wouldn’t have missed it too much, he had stopped writing in it long ago, but it gave him hope that not _everything_ was lost.

  
Fenris opened the closet and chuckled after a second. “Mage,” he said gently as he reached into the badly burnt closet. Anders turned around in time to find the elf pull out his mother’s embroidered pillow.

 

“ _Maker_ ,” Anders exclaimed in disbelief when Fenris handed it over, pressing the pillow tightly against his chest. “I can’t believe it survived _this_ , too.”

 

“Unfortunately, it would seem your feathered coat survived as well,” Fenris teased as he pulled out the coat in question. Anders stuck his tongue out at the elf while Hawke guffawed.

 

“I happen to love that coat, Fenris,” Anders told his elf. “Give it to me before you do something nasty to it.”

 

Fenris huffed but handed Anders the coat before checking the closet once again, retrieving what clothes he could find and gathered them in his arms. Anders busied himself with the bedside tables once again. He found a few coins and the book he and Fenris had last used for reading lessons.

 

“I guess it’s a good thing we never owned much, eh?” Anders asked.

 

“Speaking of,” Fenris muttered and walked off. Hawke and Anders listened to the noises Fenris made in his former bedroom. The elf returned with a bag. “The coin survived, too,” he announced.

 

“And what good will that do us?” Anders asked with a smile.

 

“Who knows. Should we decide to leave Kirkwall, we will need the coin,” Fenris pointed out.

 

“Well, rebuilding this mansion sure would take months, if not years,” Hawke mused.

 

“Not to mention it was never my own. Some other noble will probably claim it.” The elf sighed. “So much for trying to build something akin to a home for the mage and me.”

 

“Fenris,” Anders said gently and surprised the elf with a tender embrace and a kiss to his forehead. “It _was_ home,” the mage murmured into Fenris’ ear. “And despite the sparse furnishing and mushrooms growing in the entrance hall, it was perfect to me.”

 

Fenris wrapped his own arms tightly around the mage’s taller form and held him tightly. It felt good, after his poor reaction yesterday and their argument earlier, to just hold the man again. Slender hands rubbed the elf’s back soothingly and there was another chaste kiss, this time to his ear and Fenris shivered.

 

“I loved it here,” Anders told Fenris. “Never doubt that.”

 

“It was certainly an improvement to living in the sewers,” Hawke quipped. Anders huffed and Fenris couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“He is not too wrong, mage,” he pointed out. “And I will not move to Lowtown or Darktown.”

 

“Guess we’ll have to think of something then.”

 

Fenris felt something brush past him and lowered his gaze. Lianni slowly made her way over to the open window, gaze fixed on the burnt curtains wafting in the cool breeze.

  
“Careful,” Fenris told her but Lianni didn’t seem to hear him. She looked around slowly, a deep frown on her face.

 

“Anders?” she whispered after a moment and Fenris felt Anders stiffen in his hold.

  
“Mage, what’s wrong?”

 

**_Anders._ **

 

There was a pained expression on Anders’  face when he turned his head to look at the little girl, who was now facing him. She looked heartbroken.

 

**_Anders_**.

 

“What?” Anders asked quietly, ignoring the sudden pain in his chest. “What do you want, Justice?”

 

Fenris and Hawke looked alarmed and the elf grabbed one of Anders’ hands tightly. “Mage?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

  ** _I’m sorry_**.

 

Lianni’s tiny frame began to shake with sobs and Hawke frowned at the tears running over her face. “I’m sorry, Anders,” Lianni cried and Anders wondered if she even realized _why_ she was apologizing. Slowly, Anders went to his knees.

 

“Come here,” he told Lianni and the little girl hurried across the room and right into the mage’s open arms. Her own, tiny arms wrapped around his neck and Anders marveled how fragile she was. “Shhh, don’t,” he soothed and slowly wrapped his own arms around her in return. “It’s alright,” he told her, or Justice or maybe himself? Anders wasn’t sure. “It’s alright,” he said again. “Don’t cry, it’s alright.”

 

_It’s alright. I’m sorry, too._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> Omnia abiit – Everything is gone  
> Finis excuso – Stop apologizing


	16. SIXTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Zevran have a heart to heart, a table is sexually abused/traumatized, Sparklefingers is back and Varric is extremely naughty.  
> THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early so Feya can read it before bedtime :P Pushy thing you!

It was raining.

 

Anders listened to the rain, hitting the Hanged Man’s roof and creating a soft murmuring sound as he scrubbed his Warden armor. Darkspawn blood was surprisingly hard to get rid of, if dried for too long.

 

He brushed back a few loose strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead and straightened his back.  There was a brief, warning flutter from Vengeance and Anders spun around quickly, catching the wrist of the hand that was pointing a dagger at  him and glared. He felt the Antivan tense for a moment, then heard him chuckle.

  
“Delightful,” Zevran noted. “That was very good, my dear mage.”

 

“Don’t sneak up on me, Zevran,” Anders grunted.

 

“I didn’t do a very good job if you heard me, yes?” Anders let go of the assassin’s wrist and Zevran lowered his arm, sheathing the dagger.

 

“I didn’t hear you, but I was warned,” the mage told him, nodding at Mael in greeting when the Warden Commander showed up behind Zevran. “Did you find a messenger?”

 

“I have,” Mael confirmed, “but I’m sure all of Thedas knows what happened by now. You could probably see the fire and smoke from Denerim.”

  
“Then I suppose we should expect Alistair and army to arrive soon, yes?” Zevran asked, waggling his eyebrows. “To come and retrieve his one true love.”

 

Mael rolled his eyes and  Anders had to laugh at the image that created in his mind. Alistair, with flying banners, arriving on a ship, ready to take the place apart further – it was too amusing.

 

“I sure hope he’s got a better head on his shoulders,” Mael muttered as he glanced down at himself. “Now, if you would excuse me, I am in dire need of a bath.”

 

Zevran and Anders watched as the Warden Commander dragged his tired body upstairs and Anders wondered when Mael last had eaten something or slept. If there could be one thing said about them, it was their habit to push their limits to the extreme; Anders liked to think he’d gotten a little better, though. Certainly better than he had been when he’d still been running the clinic, possessed by a Fade spirit and never finding a real moment to rest, unless he passed out from exhaustion. Warden stamina was an amazing thing to have – but probably also the most unhealthy.

 

“So,” Anders spoke up.

  
“Yes?”

 

“You and Hawke?”

 

Zevran laughed. “I saw this coming, yes?”

 

Anders smirked at him. “Good!” Not giving Zevran the chance on a comeback, the mage smiled wickedly and cast a paralysis glyph at him. Zevran froze, utter confusion and surprise written over his features while Anders rounded him.

 

“Listen carefully to me, Zevran,” the mage said, stopping in front of the Antivan. “Garrett is my best friend. The best I ever had in my life and the best I will ever have. He has shown me nothing but support and trust since the day we’ve met, and I can’t say he had it easy with me. He has risked his head for mine, more than once, and I’ll never be able to repay him for all he has done for me.”

 

He watched Zevran try to say something but all the elf managed was the beginnings of a scowl on his face.

 

“Garrett is a kind-hearted, generous man,” Anders continued gently. “I love him like my own blood. I want the _best_ for him. I know how easily he gets emotionally invested and you’re the first in a very long time that he’s shown any sort of interest in. I know, I know, there was Isabela but…Isabela is Isabela, you know that as well as I do.” He sighed. “And I know _you_. I realize that underneath all your false bravado and playful attitude, you are a good man. I know, because I used to be much like you. Sometimes, I wish I still was, to some extent.” Anders offered Zevran a crooked smile. “Point being, I would hate to see Hawke get hurt, if he develops feelings for you and you only see this as something to pass time in-between the tasks Mael drags you off to.”

 

Anders crossed his arms and gave Zevran a stern look. “If that is the case, I am hereby asking you to stay out of his bed. Though, if you actually do like Hawke, be assured that setting your ass on fire is the most harmless thing I will do to you, should you hurt him.”

 

He let the glyph shatter and Zevran blinked at him, hands flexing when he was finally able to move again. “Was that necessary?” he grunted.

 

“Definitely necessary.”

 

Zevran sighed, all playfulness forgotten for the moment.

 

“It would be a bad idea, getting involved with him,” he said quietly. “Any day, Mael will decide to return to Vigil’s Keep and I will follow him, as I have promised, many years ago. Obviously, Hawke will not follow me back to Ferelden, as he is strongly tied to Kirkwall and the people he cares about.”

 

“It honors you, that you are keeping your promise,” Anders replied. “But you are not Mael’s servant or slave. You are not even a Grey Warden. You are free to go wherever you wish and I know he’s told you that often enough. Whatever you believe to owe him for sparing your life after you attempted to kill him, you have repaid it tenfold by now.”

 

“I know that,” Zevran hissed at the mage and Anders frowned at the sudden anger. “I am just…”

 

“…unsure where to go or what to do, when the time comes,” the mage finished for him. “I know.”

 

The Antivan sighed heavily.

 

“When I kept escaping the Circle, the main idea was to be free. Simple as that. I actually had no idea what to do with myself as soon as I _am_ free,” Anders said with a smile. “I didn’t know where to go and how I’d make a living in the future, while trying to keep my being a mage secret. Obviously, Tevinter was a choice, but I’m terribly allergic to slavery and scheming, so…”

 

Zevran chuckled at that. “I guess it is a good thing you ended up with the Wardens, for a while,” he said. “You would be such a waste among the magisters.”

 

“I didn’t exactly do anything that would make me worthy of belonging to the Grey Warden order,” Anders pointed out. “I was cheeky, I always thought about running, despite Mael being kind and fair, and saving my ass when Rylock set up a trap for us. I repaid him by becoming an abomination, slaying Templars and Warden recruits and escaping to Kirkwall.”

 

“You did cause quite the mess,” Zevran agreed. “I still can’t fathom how you managed that. You _ripped_ Rolan’s head off.”

 

“With my bare hands.” Anders shuddered at the memory. “Well, I guess actually Justice’s hands.” He sighed. “Sometimes, it takes a while until you know what it is you want to do and what will give you purpose. For me, it was getting to Kirkwall to free Karl from the Circle and start over, somewhere. Instead, I lost Karl, but I had a free clinic in which I could do something good and prove that mages are not evil monsters. And I made friends. Wonderful friends.”

 

“And what will you do, now that Kirkwall lies in ruins and your clinic is no longer?” the Antivan asked.

 

“I don’t know. Start over, here in Kirkwall? Go somewhere else? If Hawke truly intends to help rebuild Kirkwall, I may stay and assist him. Who knows into what kind of place we could shape Kirkwall, together.” Anders shrugged. “I don’t have any set plans save for one, and that _plan_ is probably waiting upstairs for me right now.” He smiled.

 

“Ah.” Zevran smiled knowingly. “And what of the child you find yourself with?”

 

“I don’t know,” the mage answered truthfully. After they had retrieved what little belongings had survived the fire, Fenris had ended up carrying it all while Anders carried Lianni. She had fallen asleep against him and for some reason, Anders had found it hard to let go of her again.

 

He’d carried her to Hawke’s estate first. It had been in surprisingly good shape, even better than the mansion the mage had shared with the elf, with the exception of the basement and the secret passage leading to Darktown. Most of his furniture was nothing more than a pile of ashes, his impressive library Anders had often sat in and read in the past was unrecognizable. Hawke hadn’t cared, as he had searched every single room of the estate – he didn’t care about his belongings being nothing more than a pile of ashes. What Hawke _did_ care about were the whereabouts of Bodahn, Sandal, Orana and Rogue and he had been relieved when he hadn’t found a burnt body anywhere. There was hope they survived and Anders was hoping with Hawke.

 

Anders glanced at the elf next to him. He could see Zevran pondering over their conversation, a deep frown on the Antivan’s face.

 

“Whatever my plans will be,” Anders spoke up again, “I know for certain that Hawke will have a hard time, should he take up the post as viscount once more. Some people never wanted him as viscount, we don’t know what the rest of the Free Marches will actually say, and the Templars faithful to Meredith will protest against it. Maybe the entire order, and the Chantry, too. I still believe he is Kirkwall’s best chance at peace, with or without a blighted Circle.”

 

Zevran made a face at him.

 

“Someone in his position will need protection. Like Alistair did, at first, when he claimed Ferelden’s throne. I can think of someone who’d be absolutely perfect, not only in keeping him happy, but also safe.”

 

“Oh, that’s a cheap shot,” Zevran said with a laugh. “Especially at someone who’s not known to have a heart of gold, my beautiful.”

 

“Don’t you?” Anders smirked. “Well, in case you were hoping to find Hawke here, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. He went to Darktown. He hopes to find Orana, Bodahn and Sandal at my clinic.”

 

“Alone?” Zevran’s ears gave a nervous twitch and Anders bit his tongue to not chuckle at the sight.

 

“He’s a grown man, you know. But then, it’s getting dark and Kirkwall isn’t exactly safe at the moment. Not that it ever was, but –“

 

The Antivan groaned and pointed a gloved finger at Anders. “I hate you,” he stated. Anders smiled sweetly in return and watched while Zevran grabbed an apple from the basket on the bar – courtesy of Isabela, who had decided the fruit had to go before it all went bad. The Antivan took a bite and chewed hastily. “I really do hate you,” he murmured then and made his way for the door.

 

As soon as the Antivan was outside, Anders giggled to himself and focused his attention on his armor again.

 

“Mage?”

 

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

 

Anders glanced up and found Fenris at the top of the stairs. He allowed himself a moment to admire the view of Fenris in nothing but a slightly too long tunic that was hanging off of one shoulder, eyes following the lines of lyrium up slender, tanned legs.

 

“Hey,” Anders greeted gently. “Just had a talk with Zevran.”

 

Fenris snorted, mouth quirking up. “I heard. It was a cheap shot indeed.”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh and watched the elf descend the stairs. “Where’s Lianni?” he asked casually.

 

The elf’s smile widened. “Not a she or it anymore, I see?” Anders scowled at him. “She is asleep. She may not know hunger or thirst yet, which has me a little worried, but she sure knows the need to sleep. And she’s a surprisingly deep sleeper.”

 

“A quality neither of us can claim to have,” Anders pointed out with a smirk. “Although, I used to be a deep sleeper when I was younger.”

 

Fenris inspected the armor, a small smile on his lips when he felt Anders’ eyes on his body once again. “I’m afraid I lack memory to know whether or not I was,” he murmured, tracing the gryphon on the breast plate with a fingertip. “I understand Wardens actually had armor made specifically for mages?”

 

“Yes. Although, that one is not for mages. Those are much more comfortable and not quite as heavy. I wonder if I should ask Mael for one. It looked good on me.” Fenris glanced at the mage, who was decidedly _not_ looking at the elf anymore, but there was a light flush to his cheeks that made the elf smirk. “What is it?”

 

Anders breathed out a laugh. “Maker, Fenris. You know, we sat in a stream, completely naked, just the other day, and yet you _definitely_ look much more enticing right now.”

 

“And here I thought you enjoy me looking _enticing_.” Fenris brushed past the mage and sat on the table behind him. The same table Anders had sat at, seemingly an eternity ago although it had only been a few nights, worrying about the elf, wondering where he was and if they’d ever see each other again in this life.

 

The same table Anders had been pushed on by one of the shades, although that was a story he would not share with the elf.

 

“Oh, I do.” Anders chuckled. “What’s not to enjoy about you?”

 

“My bad temper and occasionally possessive behavior?” Fenris suggested.

  
“We all have flaws, Fenris.” Anders decided to give up on cleaning the armor and stepped up to Fenris instead. Tanned legs parted for him and he found himself trapped tightly between them, emerald greens glinting in the semi dark as they looked up to him. “And even your flaws can be enjoyable. Sometimes.”

 

“Is that so?” Fenris wrapped his arms around Anders’ middle, pulling him closer still.

 

“I do get…a little _flutter_ in my stomach now and then, when you’re being your possessive, smoldering self,” Anders admitted while he lowered his head. Their lips met for a chaste kiss. He felt Fenris smirk. “The good kind of flutter, in case you’re wondering,” the mage murmured.

 

“I believe I am familiar with that sort of sensation,” Fenris replied in kind, hands reaching for the blond’s pants, tugging on the laces. The knuckles of his fingers brushed over the growing bulge, feeling its heat through the fabrics.

 

Anders gave a low groan. “You are aware that anybody can walk in on us any moment?” he asked. Fenris growled, one hand reaching up to wrap around the back of Anders’ neck, pulling him down while the other made short work of the laces.

 

“I don’t care, fool mage,” Fenris hissed and then Anders’ mouth was on his, hard and demanding. The elf had only just managed to open the mage’s pants, when he found himself pushed back and laid on the table. Slender hands grabbed him by the tips and tugged him down until their groins met, before they fumbled with his shirt, pushing it up to reveal more dark skin and lyrium lines that started to glow faintly.

 

Fenris broke their kiss to wiggle out of the shirt, gasping when the mage busied his mouth on his chest instead, kissing, nipping and tracing lyrium lines with his tongue. Usually, the mage would steer away from them, even though they no longer caused the elf pain. Fenris had always imagined those parts of his body to be dead to touch, but Anders’ tongue made them tingle and flare up brighter, sending small shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

 

Anders chuckled against his skin suddenly and lifted his head. “I think I found a new trick,” he murmured as he moved back up to kiss Fenris’ mouth. His tongue caressed over the seam of Fenris’ lips and the elf twitched when he felt a quick spark of magic. His lips tingled from it and he broke away with an amused snort.

 

“What was that?” he asked, slightly breathless.

  
“An alteration of my electricity trick,” Anders replied with a grin. “It reacted nicely to the lyrium in your body, so…”

 

“What did I say about doing anything magic on me, without warning me first?”

 

“Are you…complaining?” Anders frowned. “I’m sorry, Fenris, I –“

 

Fenris chuckled and pulled Anders down once again. “Shut up,” he told him gently. “It did feel nice.” He rolled his hips against the mage’s and smirked when Anders groaned, dropping his head to the elf’s chest.

 

“This feels nice, too,” Anders commented with a shaky voice.

 

“I would say,” Fenris agreed, his adept hands reaching down once more to finish what they had started. Anders hissed in pleasure and bucked against the hands once Fenris had freed his now straining erection, giving it a squeeze. “Keep quiet, mage,” the elf admonished. “You’re usually really good at keeping quiet.”

 

“And you keep complaining about me being quiet during sex,” Anders moaned into elf’s neck, hips continuing to trust as the elf stroked. “Make up your mind.”

 

“As you wish,” Fenris murmured, turning his head enough to gently bite into the mage’s earlobe. Anders retaliated by sinking his teeth into the elf’s neck, hard enough to leave a bruise, then licked the bite mark soothingly. Another spark of magic and Fenris threw his head back, biting his lips to keep the loud moan in. His back arched off the tabletop and Anders’ hands grabbed his hips.

 

“Sorry, that one was a little too strong,” Anders murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Fenris’ throat. “You alright?”

  
“Fuck me,” Fenris exhaled and his cock throbbed against his stomach as if agreeing.

  
Anders chuckled, lips caressing over the elf’s chin before finding Fenris’ for another deep kiss, completely without sparks this time. The lyrium in Fenris’ skin was pulsating, completely in tune with his heartbeat and, as Fenris figured, Anders’ as well, because he felt it echo in his chest.

 

“I mean it, mage,” Fenris muttered against Anders’ mouth. “Fuck me.”

 

Anders shifted a little on top of him and he felt the mage’s hand on his thigh, caressing and squeezing gently as the elf spread his legs a little further. Their gazes locked and Anders seemed to consider for a moment before he brought his mouth to Fenris’ again. “No,” he whispered.

  
Fenris frowned. “No?”

 

“No.” A slick finger pushed into him and Fenris gasped, back arching slightly. Anders smiled at him as he slowly began to move it and a breathy moan escaped Fenris before he could stop himself. “Take you? Yes. Make love to you? With pleasure. But I won’t _fuck_ you, Fenris. Not tonight,” Anders told him quietly. He smirked. “Besides, if I fucked you on that table, it’s going to creak _really_ loud.”

 

The elf snorted and reached up to grab the edge of the table. His hips began to move, thrusting back against the mage’s hand and Anders pushed a second finger inside. Green eyes fluttered close and Fenris gasped, feeling himself being stretched and heat began to coil in his belly. The fingers inside him crooked and he hissed in pleasure, back arching even more. “Please,” he breathed out shakily.

 

When Anders pushed into him, Fenris found himself gripping the table so hard, his knuckles turned white. The mage’s hands grabbed his hips once again to steady him and then Anders was moving, with slow, deliberate strokes that had the elf’s toes curl and body shake. Fenris lost himself in it, the connection of their bodies, the hitches in Anders’ breath when the mage did his best to keep quiet; the gentle slap of skin against skin, the way Anders’ hold on him began to slip when sweat formed on his body; his own labored breathing when Anders picked up pace _just_ so to hit against his prostate, rather than just brush it. The mage braced himself against the table with one hand, the other tightening its grip on Fenris’ hip as the elf’s back arched further and Anders lifted his hips, holding him in this position. Fenris felt the strain in his arms and back, but it was overshadowed by the other sensations.

 

Anders began to thrust harder and Fenris groaned, the table indeed creaking beneath their combined weight and the movements of their bodies. His shoulders rubbed uncomfortably against the wood and he expected to find the one or other bruise, come morning. The mage shuddered against him and Fenris felt the mage’s cock pulse inside him.

 

“Bite your tongue, Fen,” Anders gasped out as he lowered the elf’s hips to the table again. One slender finger rubbed against his tightened balls and Fenris bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. A spark, coursing through his body like lightning, left a tingling sensation in all the right places and Fenris jerked helplessly as he came. His hips thrust up hard against Anders’ pelvis and the mage moaned, his own hips giving one, two hard thrusts before following Fenris into the bliss of orgasm.

 

They both took a moment to catch their breath, while their bodies shook. Fenris eventually managed to let go of the table, wrapping his arms around Anders and pulling him down, close. Anders rested his sweaty face against Fenris’ chest, his pants caressing over the elf’s sweat-slick skin.

 

“That was the electricity thing Isabela kept talking about,” Anders informed him breathlessly. Laughter rumbled lowly in the elf’s chest and he reached up to run a hand through the mage’s slightly mussed-up hair.

 

“Does that mean I now belong to the Sparklefingers club?” Fenris asked.

 

“There’s a club?” Anders wrinkled his nose. “Maker, please tell me you are joking?”

 

“I wouldn’t know. How many people did you show that trick to?”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh and pressed a lingering kiss to the elf’s chest. “Four, including you,” he said. “Did you like it?”

 

Fenris’ eyebrows shot up and he flicked the mage’s forehead. Anders lifted his body off Fenris’ at that and the elf pointedly looked down at himself. “I think the mess speaks for itself, mage,” he eventually replied and Anders chuckled before slipping out of Fenris body, moving down further to lick the sticky mess on the elf’s stomach. Fenris watched him curiously and Anders hummed approvingly.

  
“Maker, even your come tastes of lyrium,” the mage whispered.

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly had both men freeze for a moment.

  
“You do know this is going into my next book, right?” Varric said cheerfully. “Thanks for the rather insightful information, Blondie. Oh, and the rather delightful show.”

 

“ _Maker_ ,” Anders groaned, embarrassed, and Varric guffawed.


	17. SEVENTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is NSFW!

It was still raining when Anders woke up. The soft pitter-patter against the roof was calming and lulling, and Anders fought waking up for a few moments. He was wrapped around Fenris smaller frame, heat radiating from the elf. Lifting his head from the elf’s shoulder, Anders nuzzled against Fenris’ chest instead, inhaling the other’s scent and enjoying the slow, steady heartbeat that created a melody coupled with the pitter-patter of the rain.

 

Anders cracked one eye open and blearily glanced across the room. Varric’s room, he remembered. It offered more space than the other rooms in the Hanged Man. The dwarf had offered it to them yesterday, so Lianni could stay with them for the night. The little girl was still out like a light, sleeping deeply on the sofa, covered with a thick blanket and drooling on her pillow. A fond smile slowly spread on Anders’ lips at the sight. There was a sense of belonging that he couldn’t explain. It had started to spread in his chest when he’d hugged the little girl yesterday, expanding as he carried her sleeping form across Kirkwall before, upon returning to the Hanged Man, tucking her in. He hadn’t paid that feeling any mind up until now, but as it happened so often, being the first to wake in the morning and not wanting to get up just yet, he was alone with his thoughts and there was no distraction from them.

 

There had been this lingering sense of Justice about her, since meeting her in the thaig. Even though they no longer shared a body and the Fade spirit was no more – at least not in the way it used to be – Anders had recognized the feeling. His own scarred spirit had ached where it had once been melded with the Fade spirit; it had made the mage uneasy and Vengeance furious. It explained his anger whenever he saw her.

 

That anger was gone now. It had dissolved, the moment the little girl had begun to cry and apologize. The little girl had no idea what for, but Justice did and Anders had finally understood, the moment she was in his arms and the lingering sense of the Fade spirit he used to share his body with had disappeared completely.

 

**_What has resulted from our joining was unjust. We had never meant to become this._ **

 

No, they hadn’t. Justice certainly had never anticipated that joining with Anders, a living host, would disable his ability to wash clean from any influence. Neither had anticipated that Justice would be tainted by Anders’ thoughts and emotions and turn into something that was beyond their control. For a long time, Anders knew, he had blamed Justice for this. For losing control, for forgetting who he was and in return, making Anders into something he was not. That part they had created together, Vengeance. It would probably remain until the day he died, but it was no longer uncontrollable. Just a mere presence in the back of his consciousness, different from what Justice had felt like and no longer fueled by the powers of the Fade spirit.

 

What had happened to Justice, Anders knew, was his fault entirely. He was a mage. He had been taught to steer away from the lure of demons; he had been aware what joining with a Fade being would entail, and he had still agreed to share his body with Justice. He was a Spirit Healer and knew, better than most other mages, what it meant to say no. How _important_ it was to say no. He had said no all his life and it had been easy to do. He hadn’t said no to Justice. He didn’t point out the possible consequences. Anders had _known_ and yet he had still agreed.

 

 ** _We have sacrificed much. Too much. This, too, is unjust_**.

 

Anders wrapped himself more tightly around Fenris and closed his eyes.

 

**_I want you to have this._ **

 

Fenris stirred next to him and Anders smiled when he felt the elf’s hand caressing down his scarred back.

 

**_I want you to have this._ **

 

Lianni mumbled into her pillow and amber eyes snapped open once again. **_I want you to have this._** This. Lianni.

 

_You don’t owe me anything. This was my fault, more so than yours._

**_I want you to have this._ **

 

Justice’s ‘apology’, in the flesh.

 

“Mage?” Fenris mumbled.

 

“I love you,” Anders replied in kind and Fenris chuckled, arms wrapping tightly around the mage.

 

“I know.” Fenris pressed a kiss to the top of Anders’ head, nuzzling the soft hair. “And I love you.”

 

“I used to be shy, at first.” Anders pulled back just enough to look at Fenris, who was frowning at him. “When I was little,” the mage clarified. “Even too shy to greet someone. I would hide behind my mother whenever someone addressed me. Eventually, I learned that I was quite good at making jokes and generally entertaining the people around me, as long as I was brave enough to open my mouth in the first place. In the end, I guess I was something of a popular child. Everyone in our little village liked me.”

 

Fenris smiled sleepily at that.

  
“At least, until I accidentally set the barn on fire,” Anders added with a  frown.

 

“You set a barn on fire?”

 

“It truly was an accident. I had only meant to clear it out before the cattle returned for the night. But my magic chose that moment to awaken and…well.”

 

“Your family were farmers, then?”

 

“Yes. A thing I have in common with Garrett, except he doesn’t know about it.” Anders shrugged.

 

Fenris snorted. “Like he doesn’t know your age?”

 

The mage chuckled at that and snuggled against the elf.

 

“Are you truly older than him?” Fenris asked curiously.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I have to admit, I am not good at guessing someone’s age.”

 

“Neither is he, it would seem,” Anders pointed out and Fenris chuckled. “Does it matter?”

 

“What?”

 

“My age, Fenris.”

 

“I don’t know mine,” Fenris murmured. “Why should I care about yours? Are you insecure about your age?”

 

Anders thought about that for a moment. “I am probably a lot older than you.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question, mage.” Fenris tugged gently on a strand of blond hair. “Besides, I am the one with the white hair, I have no room to talk.”

 

The blond chuckled at that and pressed a gentle kiss to the elf’s chest. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he admitted. “Karl was older than me. Back then, I actually thought it to be quite the achievement, making an older man interested in me. Now I’m the older one.” Anders glanced up with a smirk. “Still feels like an achievement.”

 

“Do you miss him, sometimes?”

 

“Karl?” Anders pursed his lips. “No. I think of him, sometimes. I assume I still mourn his death, too, on occasion. But I don’t miss him. Karl and I, we…when he was transferred to Kirkwall, he thought it best not to remain lovers. I was angry with him, for a long time. Even accused him of abandoning me, the day he left.”

 

Fenris hummed thoughtfully and resumed caressing the mage’s scalp and playing with his hair. “Were you hoping to change his mind, when you came to Kirkwall?”

 

“I am not sure we would have been able to return to what we used to be, before he left Kinloch Hold. A romantic idea at best, but so much had happened since and we had both changed a lot.” Anders sighed. “Not to mention he would have been incredibly disappointed in me for having become an abomination.” Another sigh. “Why are you asking me all this?”

 

Fenris smiled. “While I was in the Deep Roads, mostly alone with my thoughts, I realized how little I know about you. There was a good chance I would not make it out alive; that I would never see you again. And what saddened me the most was not knowing a lot about you.”

 

Anders frowned at him.

 

“So, I spent the time making a list of things I would ask you, if given the chance.”

 

“You made a list.” Anders lifted an eyebrow.

  
“It’s a long list, too,” Fenris warned with a smirk. “I do not remember a lot about my past, so I cannot share much about me. But there is still so much to discover and understand about _you_.”

 

The mage traced one of the lyrium lines on the elf’s body with a fingertip. It tingled beneath his touch, alive and powerful. Anders knew about the side effects of exposure to raw lyrium. He was also certain that it hadn’t been the agonizing pain that wiped Fenris’ memory, but the lyrium bedded in the elf’s skin. Anders was afraid to tell Fenris, though. The elf hated the lyrium markings with a fiery passion and the mage was unsure how he’d react to being told that the lyrium had possibly done this to his memory. Fenris was probably not beyond trying to get it out of his skin. But what side effects would the lyrium have on the elf in the future? It was strange enough that the elf was not yet a disoriented, drooling mess. _How_ had Danarius managed this?

 

“I may not feel comfortable to answer the one or other question on that list,” Anders let the elf know.

 

“You are entitled not to answer such a question, mage.” Fenris lowered his head and kissed the blond’s forehead. “I will ask them. You choose whether to answer them or not.” Another kiss. “And I will be content with anything you want to share.”

 

“Am I allowed to ask questions in return?” Anders asked with a gentle smile.

 

“Naturally.”

 

Anders shifted until he could fit his mouth against Fenris’, still smiling. “Then we have a deal, Serah Elf.” Fenris chuckled, mumbling a fond ‘fool mage’ against the blond’s lips.

 

A loud ‘thud’ had them break apart and Anders lifted his head, trying to find the source of the noise. There was a sound of discontent and some shuffling and both men found themselves staring at a very sleepy Lianni, sitting on the floor and rubbing her eyes. She was pouting when she peered at Anders and Fenris on the bed.

 

“I fells,” she announced sleepily and reached up to smooth her tousled hair.

 

“Did you…hurt yourself?” Fenris asked, slightly perplexed. The mage in his arms was shaking with suppressed laughter and Anders buried his face against the elf’s shoulder.

 

Lianni shook her head, a little more awake now. She stared at Anders curiously and Fenris watched as a brilliant smile lit up her entire face before she started to giggle. The sound was enough for the mage to fail at keeping quiet and he laughed against the elf’s shoulder. And Fenris sat in the bed, holding a cackling mage, gaze fixed on a giggling child and marveled how, the more hysterical the mage’s laughter became, the louder the girl’s giggles did, too.

 

~*~

 

Lianni frowned at the fruit Isabela put down in front of her, head tilting to take a look at it from all sides. Next was a mug placed next to the fruit and Lianni’s frown deepened as she glanced up at the pirate.

  
“What is thats?” she asked.

 

“It’s an apple, Sweetcheeks,” Isabela replied with a smirk. “And some water.”

 

Lianni took the apple and rolled it around in her tiny palms. “Whats do I dos with apples?”

 

Isabela’s eyebrows shot up. “You eat them. Aren’t you hungry? You look as stick-thin as your mage daddy does.”

 

“ _Not_ her father,” Anders spoke up from the other side of the room. He and Fenris had decided to sit down and practice the elf’s reading some more, now that they had a quiet moment. It was only them, Varric and Isabela in the Hanged Man. Hawke had not returned during the night, Anders figured, and he hoped Zevran was with him by now. As for Mael – well, the Warden Commander did have a talent for disappearing without a word.

 

“Then what exactly would you call yourselves?” the pirate shot back, arms crossing as she threw the couple a mild glare. “Doting uncles? Child robbers?”

 

Fenris bristled. “Watch it, pirate,” he snarled.

 

“Didn’t think you were into kids, Rivaini,” Varric pointed up while slicing a loaf of bread for them. The last one they found in the larder.

 

Isabela made a disgusted sound. “I am not. Just doing what you said, handing out something for breakfast.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Lianni was still completely enraptured with the apple. She lifted it up to look at it from below, then let it fall into her lap. It landed with a ‘thud’ and she giggled. “I like apples.”

 

Isabela threw Fenris a pointed look at that. Ears flat against his head, Fenris scowled back and Anders chuckled.

 

“Do you like cats, too, Sweetcheeks?” Isabela asked Lianni with a grin.

 

The little girl brightened up at that. “Do yous have ones?”

 

Another pointed look, this time directed at Anders.

 

“How does she not know what food is, but gets excited over cats?” Varric marveled.

 

“I guess she is a little like me, after I died,” Anders offered. “With her mind all over the place. If she has one, that is. From what Marethari said, Lianni merely possesses fragments of my memory, nothing else.”

 

“She would need to make her own then?” Fenris asked.

 

“Like a newborn would.” Anders handed Fenris the book and got up. As he passed Varric, he gestured for one of the dwarf’s daggers; Varric quirked an eyebrow, but handed it over anyway.

 

“Mage?” Fenris called out, a little worried.

 

“Please, Fenris…as if I would,” Anders answered the unspoken implication. Reaching the table Lianni was seated at, Anders grabbed the apple and began to cut it into slices. Lianni leaned forward, mouth agape and eyes curious.

 

“Whats are you doings?” she asked when Anders was almost done.

 

“Slicing the apple,” Anders explained. “So you can try and eat it. It’s better this way.”

 

Lianni pursed her lips. “Buts doesn’t thats hurt the apples?”

 

Anders stopped and stupidly stared at the sliced apple and the blade stuck in the last piece to slice. Behind him, Fenris broke into throaty laughter.

 

“No, Lianni,” Anders eventually replied. “It doesn’t hurt the apple. The apple is not alive, you know? It’s food. People eat food.” He held up a slice of apple for her. “Try it?”

 

Lianni took the slice and eyed it curiously. Anders, though, spun around and pointed the dagger at a still laughing Fenris. “Quit it!” he said but his own eyes were twinkling in amusement.

 

“Forgive me, mage,” Fenris managed to get out. “But your face, it was priceless.”

 

“The first time she gets to eat meat, _you_ will explain to her why you ki – that the animal doesn’t mind!” Anders groused.

 

Fenris sobered up a little at that. “You wouldn’t dare. I don’t know how to break things gently to a child.”

  
“Really? You seemed to be doing just fine until now.” Anders lowered the dagger. “Not getting out of that one, Fenris.”

 

“It’s yummy,” Lianni piped up. Anders looked across his shoulder and found himself smiling fondly at Lianni. She was on her third slice of apple, fingers dripping with juice. “It’s sweets.”

 

“Fenris likes them a lot, too,” Anders let her know. “I suppose I should make sure to always have apples for the two of you, from now on.”

 

“So domestic, Blondie,” Varric said sweetly. Anders rolled his eyes at the dwarf before locking gazes with Fenris. There was something in the elf’s eyes… Anders couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had never seen that look before.

 

“You two make me retch,” Isabela informed Anders with a gentle punch against the shoulder. One glance sideways and a quick tap of two fingertips against the small of the pirate’s back as she walked past him. A spark of magic, and Isabela went rigid, eyes comically wide for a moment before her cheeks flushed.

 

“You…that…” Isabela groaned, trembling thighs pressing together.

 

“You were saying?” Anders asked nonchalant.

 

“Not…fair…” Isabela gritted out.

 

Varric guffawed and finished slicing the bread. “Interesting trick, Blondie. That the one she’s been begging you for?”

 

“Possibly,” Anders replied with a smirk.

 

“Your cock gonna take care of the rest now?” Isabela purred.

 

“Dream on,” Fenris growled.

 

The pirate huffed. “He really doesn’t like to share, does he?” she asked with a smirk.

 

Anders grinned. “Neither do I.”

 

“Shame.” Isabela threw Fenris a dirty grin. “Because you are good. _Very_ good.”

 

Fenris snarled and Anders laughed awkwardly, pushing Isabela toward the staircase. “Don’t make my elf mad, alright? Go…do _something_.”

 

“Alone?” Isabela tried her best to look scandalized but then she was laughing, too, and hurried up the stairs – not without sticking her tongue out at Fenris before she disappeared. Fenris glared, arms crossed.

 

“Ah, I forgot to ask her,” Varric sighed. “ _How_ good? I will need it for my next novel.” He glanced at Fenris. “Broody?”

 

“Varric? Shut up,” Anders told the dwarf and Varric cackled.

 

“What’s cock?” Lianni asked and three pairs of eyes widened.

 

“A word you will _forget_ right now,” Fenris eventually said, being the first to recover. “You will not listen to anything Isabela says, Lianni.”

 

Lianni shrugged. “Okay.”

 

“It’s not gonna stay that easy, Broody,” Varric pointed out with a smirk.

 

“I’m aware.”

 

Anders cleared his throat and glanced at the little girl, who was currently inspecting the mug. It took a moment but then she was lifting it to her mouth, taking a sip. “How do you feel?” he asked.

 

“Goods?” Lianni blinked at him. “Whys?”

 

“Well, you just ate something for the first time,” Anders explained. “That’s a…well…big step, I guess?”

 

Lianni smiled shyly and averted her gaze. When the door to the Hanged Man opened loudly, she flinched, spilling water all over the table and herself. The fireball was ready instinctively, growing in Anders’ palm.

 

“Whoa!” Hawke exclaimed, taking a few steps back. “Easy, _easy_ , Anders.”

 

Anders sighed and let the fireball retreat. “ _Why_ do you people keep doing this?”

  
“Why are you always so on the edge, beautiful?” Zevran appeared behind Hawke, smiling.

 

“Like you never sleep with one eye open, Zevran. We both know what being constantly on the run is like.”

 

Hawke frowned at him. “You are no longer on the run, Anders. Oh, and…good morning?”

 

“Apostate mage here,” Anders reminded, pointing at himself, while Lianni looked truly distressed over the fact that she’d gotten her dress wet. “Where have you been, Garrett?”

 

“Darktown?” Hawke grinned. “Your clinic, to be precise. I found Orana, Bodahn and Sandal. Oh…and this fella…” He whistled and Rogue came dashing into the Hanged Man, tongue lolling out as he barked excitedly upon seeing the mage. “Go on Rogue, give Anders a proper greeting!” Hawke suggested.

 

Again, the mabari barked and made a beeline for Anders. “No, oh no, you won’t,” Anders protested. “Sit!”

 

And Rogue sat, panting at him. Lianni got distracted from her wet dress and instead slid off the chair so she could crouch next to Rogue. The dog sniffed her curiously and yapped when Lianni giggled.

 

“Since when does he listen to you?” Hawke made a face and Zevran chuckled.

 

“I’m glad to hear you found them, Garrett,” Anders said once he was sure the mabari stayed put. “Not injured? Do you need me to have a look at them?”

 

Fenris and Varric joined in and Rogue yapped happily when the elf pet his head.

 

“Quite the opposite. They have been amazing, keeping everyone in your clinic safe. Orana even found something to cook and kept them fed.”

 

“That is joyful news indeed,” Fenris agreed quietly.

 

“Speaking of,” Zevran said, “there’s someone who’d like to speak to the healer, yes?”

 

“Oh, errm…” Hawke scratched the back of his head. “Yes. Anders, promise you won’t get angry?” He lowered his voice. “Same goes for Vengeance.”

  
“What have you done _this_ time?” Anders groused.

 

Zevran gracefully stepped aside, motioning for someone to step closer. Fenris could see Anders pale at the sound of heavy boots and the mage took a step back. The sight of a Templar breastplate had Fenris’ lyrium brands flare to life and Anders’ eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Hawke.

 

“It’s not what you think,” Hawke placated. “Maker, Anders, I would _never_ …”

 

“I am not here to have you arrested, Healer.”

 

Anders’ eyes snapped to Cullen. The Templar looked tired and in dire need of a bath. He was unarmed, from what the mage could see, but that didn’t make a Templar any less dangerous.

  
“Please?” Cullen said, hands lifting in a defensive manner as his gaze fell to Fenris, markings ablaze and snarling at the Templar.

 

Varric slowly inched closer to Lianni and picked the girl up. Her face scrunched up at the sight of Cullen. “Go aways!” she told him. “You hurts the nice peoples!”

 

“Lianni, be quiet,” Fenris told the girl, who was now struggling in the dwarf’s hold.

 

“No! He hurts nice peoples!” she protested. “You can’ts hurts him!”

  
“Easy, kiddo, easy,” Varric said.

 

“I am not here to hurt anyone, young lady,” Cullen said tiredly. “I promise.” He glanced at Anders. “I wasn’t aware you have a child, Healer?”

 

“I don’t – “ Anders sighed. “It’s…”

 

“None of your business,” Fenris finished for the mage. “Tell us what you want and be gone, Templar.”

  
“Fenris, I promise it’s fine,” Hawke said.

 

“Very well.” Cullen cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have been treating people most of yesterday. We were in dire need of a healer for all those injured, and I thank you for that.”

 

Fenris huffed, his markings dying down.

 

“I also couldn’t help but notice that you have not been using any magic and I realize why,” Cullen continued. “As it is, despite all that you have done, many still suffer severely from their injuries and three have died this early morning.”

  
“And that’s my fault?” Anders asked tersely.

 

“Maker, no,” Cullen assured. “Not at all.” He sighed. “Listen, I _can’t_ undo what’s been done. I was aware that people claimed Meredith is losing it, and I realized belatedly how true that was. What I can do is try and provide the fugitives with food, water and whatever else they could possibly need. We plan to move them into the Gallows. The nights are getting colder and the Gallows, save for the courtyard, are still intact and provide enough space –“

 

“You want to put people into cells?” Anders huffed. “Splendid. And may I remind you what else is in that courtyard?”

  
“We’ll think of something concerning…it.” Cullen made a face. “I came here to ask you to return and heal people. You may use magic. I will make sure you will not be faced with any trouble.”

 

“In the Gallows?” the mage asked. “No. Not setting foot into that blighted place, Cullen.”

 

“So return to the gates instead.”

 

Fenris glanced at the mage.

 

“Just to make sure I am getting this right, Knight-Captain,” Anders said, “you are asking me, an _apostate mage_ , to return to the gates and heal the wounded using _magic_?”

 

“I am.”

 

The mage chuckled humorlessly at that and Hawke frowned at him.

 

“Anders…”

 

“Let me gloat for a _blighted_ minute, Hawke,” Anders said. “The irony is…just too much.”

 

“I must agree with the mage, yes?” Zevran mused.

 

Fenris considered the request for a moment. “You will lead your Templars away from the gates,” he told Cullen darkly. “All of them. Have them prepare the Gallows for the fugitives. If I see a single Templar, save for you, anywhere near the gates by the time the mage and I arrive to do as you ask, I will slay them where they stand. Without hesitation.”

 

Varric let his gaze travel from Fenris to a positively stunned Cullen. “He will. Just for the record, he _will_.”

 

“On that condition, the mage will agree,” Fenris continued. “Accept or leave.” Anders stared wordlessly at the elf.

 

“Fenris, there are people _dying_ ,” Hawke protested. Zevran reached out to put a hand on the warrior’s arm in an attempt to calm him.

 

“And as soon as the Templars become aware of the probably only apostate mage left in Kirkwall, what do you think will happen to Blondie?” Varric pointed out. “That won’t help those dying, either.”

 

“Do you accept?” Fenris asked.

 

Cullen seemed indecisive for a moment. Anders noticed how the Templar’s hands trembled a little and wondered how long it had been since he’d last taken lyrium. Templars were already dangerous enough as they came, but Templars on lyrium withdrawal…

 

“I accept,” Cullen murmured. “Give me two hours to return to the gates and make sure the Templars leave, as you requested. I cannot make any promises that all will listen to me.”

 

“Make sure to tell them that if they don’t, they’ll face their Maker before the sun sets,” Fenris told him.

 

Cullen inclined his head before leaving the Hanged Man without another word, only pausing briefly to nod his thanks to Hawke.

 

The door fell closed and Varric finally let go of Lianni. At least, she had calmed down, but she was still scowling.

 

“Maker, Fenris,” Hawke groaned. “Was that necessary?”

 

“You know how much Anders hates Templars,” Fenris snarled. “And he has more than one good reason to be wary of them, yet you bring one to our hideout?”

 

“I wouldn’t have brought him here if I had to worry about Cullen being a problem,” Hawke protested.

 

“And who says he won’t return with more Templars to come and take him?”

 

“Should he return with more Templars to retrieve the mage, Kirkwall’s gates will be decorated with their heads, my friend,” Zevran told Fenris and the Tevinter elf grinned almost wolfishly.

  
“It seems we have something in common after all.”

 

“We could arrange them nicely, too.”

 

“Zevran!” Hawke exclaimed, scandalized. “Stop it.”

 

“You will all _stop_ ,” Anders boomed and it became silent inside the Hanged Man. Fenris turned around, looking at the mage worried.

 

“Anders…”

 

The mage exhaled shakily and when he looked at Fenris, there was an expression on his face that Fenris had never seen before, nor would he be able to describe it if asked. Something unfurled in his stomach.

 

“You two,” Anders said, pointing at Hawke and Zevran, “will eat something and get some sleep. Now.”

 

Hawke opened his mouth to protest, but Zevran’s hand covered it quickly.

 

“Will you be alright, watching her for a moment?” Anders asked Varric, nodding at Lianni.

 

“She sure seems charmed by the mabari,” Varric agreed.

 

“Good. And you…” There was a tremble in the mage’s voice when he addressed Fenris. “Come with me.”

 

Fenris frowned but followed the mage without questioning him. His frown deepened when Anders, instead of going upstairs, walked quickly to the staircase leading to the basement instead. It was dark down there and narrow, surroundings the mage usually avoided.

 

Fenris followed Anders into the wine cellar. There was nothing but the one or other keg, covered in so much dust the elf wouldn’t even _want_ to try and find out what was in them. Anders closed the creaking wooden door and leaned against it for a moment, collecting himself.

 

“I apologize,” Fenris finally found his voice. “I have made decisions for you again. If you do not wish to go and heal those people, we will not.”

 

“Fenris,” Anders breathed out. “Shut up.”

 

Again, Fenris found himself frowning. “Would you like to sit down?” he offered, already looking around for something the mage could sit on.

 

“I said shut up.”

 

He didn’t sound angry, despite the words, which confused Fenris. Before he could ask, Anders crossed what little distance was between them with three long strides, pushing against Fenris until the elf found himself trapped between a cold wall and the heat of Anders’ body. Their gazes met and Anders’ eyes were dark, heated – Fenris felt his knees go weak just a little at the sight, partly out of an instinct fear, partly because of the strange arousal that suddenly took his body.

 

Anders leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, exhaling shakily against the elf’s lips. “Maker help me,” he choked out. Fenris wanted to reach out and touch, but something told him that would make the mage recoil. So he stood, quietly, back pressed against the wall uncomfortably.

 

Anders’ hands moved first, palms coming to rest against the elf’s chest for a moment before stroking down firmly. Fenris arched into the touch and trembling hands tugged on his leggings, pulling them over his hips roughly. Then Anders’ entire body was moving and Fenris watched him get on his knees, pulling the leggings down to Fenris’ knees as he went.

 

Hot breath fanned over his crotch, making his cock jump to attention and Fenris seized with a sudden panic. “Mage…”

 

The sound that tore free from his throat when Anders’ lips closed around his growing erection was one Fenris hadn’t known he was capable of making. Something akin to a howl, albeit wrecked and definitely honoring the name ‘little wolf’ that he’d been given by his former master. This time, Fenris didn’t stop himself from reaching out, both hands finding the mage’s head, fingers burying in soft, blond hair as he simultaneously tried to get away and deeper to that hot, wet mouth. When a wicked tongue joined the suction, his hips snapped forward involuntarily and Anders hummed in response. The sound and the vibration on his cock made Fenris’ thighs tremble and he thrust again, as gently as he could.

 

Within seconds, his world was reduced to this – a mage, on his knees, pleasuring him with his mouth and Fenris fought the sickening, dark feeling of utter satisfaction at the display, as it was wrongful toward a man he loved and was loved by. Reduced to the heat, the hunger and passion Anders put into the act, Fenris’ own, loud panting and throaty moans as he gave in, nails digging into the mage’s scalp, yet the elf was mindful not to force himself deeper into that sinful mouth or hold the mage’s head in place.

 

Orgasm washed over him like a wildfire and Anders’ satisfied moan when he released into the mage’s mouth undid Fenris completely. Anders pulled away and Fenris sunk to the ground, no longer able to keep himself upright. Still panting, he glanced at the mage, eyes wide in disbelief while the mage licked his lips and swallowed before slumping.

 

“What…mage…” Fenris shook his head. “What was…that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Anders murmured. “I just had to.”

 

Fenris took a few deep, calming breaths and leaned against the wall. “You _had_ to?” he asked breathlessly.

 

Anders looked at him and shrugged and Fenris sputtered in reaction.

  
“Anders. That was…”

 

“Delicious?” Fenris glowered at him. The mage shook his head and chuckled. “Maker, I can’t believe how much I needed this,” he whispered, a look of pure amazement on his face.

 

Fenris scooted closer and cupped the mage’s face, pulling him close for a kiss.

 

He didn’t need to ask what Anders meant by that.

 


	18. EIGHTEEN

Despite the now distinctively colder nights, the first autumn days in Kirkwall were still surprisingly warm. Pale sunlight and a cloudy sky greeted them by the time they left the Hanged Man. The humidty of last night’s rain hung thickly in the air and made Hawke feel like breathing was next to impossible. Sweat collected on his forehead after only a few minutes and he was ready to get out of his armor or take a very cold shower.

 

“You Fereldans are oddly unsuited for this kind of weather,” Zevran remarked next to him. His alert gaze was fixed on Anders and Fenris, who were walking ahead of them. They were quiet, each man keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as they walked, but walking close enough for their hands to be brushing against each other constantly. Now and then, Fenris would tentatively reach out, caressing over the back of the mage’s hand in an attempt to comfort, to calm him.

 

“I take it Antiva experiences humid weather often then?” Hawke grumped as he wiped over his forehead.

 

“It depends, although the close proximity to the sea means humid weather often, just with varying degrees, yes?” Zevran smiled. “It will get better once we reach Hightown, I’m sure.”

 

Hawke shot Zevran a crooked, yet thankful smile at the attempted encouragement, although he was not sure the Antivan actually noticed, since he kept his gaze trained on the two men ahead and their surroundings in general.

 

“The mage is very fond of you,” Zevran said after a long-stretched moment of silence.

 

“Anders? I know. I’m rather fond of him, too.”

 

The Antivan chuckled at that. “Does that mean Fenris had to undergo a heart to heart with you as well before you let him anywhere near Anders?” His sharp gaze flitted over to Hawke for a moment.

 

Hawke frowned, considering the question for a moment. Eventually, a faint blush crept into his cheeks, only partially hidden by his beard and he laughed awkwardly. “He didn’t.”

 

“I can assure you, he _did_.”

 

That made Hawke laugh even more. “Maker, I am sorry, Zevran. That must have been awkward. Did he give you a hard time?”

 

Zevran smirked. “It could have been worse, I assume, yes? He did give me something to think about. It may have been time I actually thought about it, too.”

 

“And what would that be?”

 

“Freedom.”

 

Hawke frowned at the Antivan. “I thought you are free? I mean…”

 

“Oh, I am,” Zevran assured. “Merely bound by my promises and oaths, but other than that, I am indeed free. I just don’t think I have ever paused to actually realize it. Anders made me wonder what other life would await me, somewhere out there. Somewhere I do not spend my days aiding Mael with the Wardens or during his missions.” He made a face. “The prospect does sound kind of boring, though, yes?”

 

“So, you’re someone who needs something to do with his life?”

 

“I like adventures. I like secrets that _beg_ to be unraveled. I enjoy lurking in the shadows, with my ears keen and my eyes watchful, looking for intrigues, or weak spots in people I don’t fancy having around all that much.”

 

Hawke chuckled. “You certainly would be a wonderful addition to any royal court that has need of such things. I take it that’s what you’ve been doing in Denerim, too?”

 

“Every king has need of a spy, sometimes of an assassin. If there is one thing I learned about royalty, it’s that there’s always someone wanting to see someone else dead.” Zevran smirked. “Needless to say, a lot of people frowned upon a Grey Warden on Ferelden’s throne, his heart in the hands of the Hero of Ferelden. Many nobles disliked the liberation of Denerim’s elves and many claimed Alistair has done nothing for their country, unlike Loghain, king slayer or not.”

 

“Loghain didn’t actually kill Cailan, though, did he?” Hawke asked.

 

“No,” Zevran agreed, “but it was due to his actions and betrayal that King Cailan fell at Ostagar. It was him who hunted down Alistair and Mael, not only to make sure there would be no witness to his betrayal, but also because he knew Alistair was Maric’s son.”

 

Hawke hummed thoughtfully, gaze on the ground. “Carver and I were in Ostagar.”

 

Zevran glanced at him.

  
“We barely made it out of there,” Hawke continued, “but when Cailan was killed and it was clear Ostagar was lost, bringing the Blight upon Ferelden, we ran. Returned home as fast as we could to get mother and our sister of of Lothering and someplace safe.”

 

“You didn’t mention there’s a mother and siblings, too.”

 

“That’s because they are all dead. Bethany was killed during our flight, by an ogre. Carver got the blight sickness during our Deep Roads expedition, years ago. And mother…” Hawke sighed. “Victim of a delusional blood mage who thought he could resurrect his bride using body parts of several different women so that monstrosity looks just like her. Apparently, mother’s face looked the same.”

 

Zevran made a face, like the mere thought was physically painful and Hawke realized that talking about it still hurt. He had come to terms with it, but sometimes, he still dreamed of that particular night and that monstrosity, wearing his mother’s face.

 

“I am sorry, mi amor,” Zevran said quietly. “I can’t even begin to imagine how painful this must be and I will not pretend to understand what it is like losing your family. But for what it is worth, I am sorry.”

 

Hawke glanced at the Antivan, waiting for him to notice that little slip of tongue. He may not be fluent in many languages, unlike Anders or even Fenris – but some words, a man knew in every language. It made sweet-talking beautiful girls much easier. When no reaction came from Zevran, other than furrowed brows at the scrutinizing look he was given, Hawke felt a smile break out on his entire face. “Thank you,” he answered.

 

They didn’t speak until they had caught up with Anders and Fenris, waiting for them by the narrow passage leading up to Hightown. There was also a lift nearby but it had proven badly damaged and unstable. Anders was watching them walk closely together, eyebrows lifted and a small smile on his lips.

 

“I wonder,” Fenris murmured next to him, “for all that you have warned Zevran of hurting Hawke in any way, have you considered Hawke not looking for something…serious?”

 

“Of course,” Anders replied calmly. “But I do know Garrett well enough. Remember that girl he was so smitten with? The one selling flowers in the market?”

 

Fenris chuckled. “Yes. He went out every morning to get pastries, just so he’d hopefully meet her. I believe he even invited her for dinner once?”

 

Anders smiled. “He really liked her. He gets that look in his eyes when he is truly fond of someone. I am sure that, if she hadn’t suddenly disappeared, something wonderful would have become of them.”

 

“I remember him being useless for a week after she disappeared,” the elf grunted out. “I wonder what happened to her.”

 

Next to him, Anders bit his lip and Fenris knew Anders knew _something_. But he could not ask, as Hawke was suddenly standing right in front of them, smirking.

  
“Ready to play Kirkwall’s savior once again?” Hawke asked Anders. The mage rolled his eyes.

 

“Garrett, I could have taken care of the severe injuries before, if I hadn’t been surrounded by Templars waiting to behead me,” Anders pointed out.

  
“Quiet,” Zevran spoke up, ears twitching as they listened intently. Hawke and Anders couldn’t hear anything, but Fenris’ ears picked up the same sound immediately.

  
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Fenris murmured, drawing his sword.

 

Anders shot him a worried look. “What is it?”

 

Zevran stood quietly, just listening for another moment. Then he chuckled and gestured for Fenris to stay calm. “I know those hurried footsteps, my friend. We are in no danger.”

 

Anders and Hawke didn’t hear anything until a second before someone came rushing out of the passage and stopped short at the sight of them. Fenris scowled and sheathed his sword – Mael greeted him with a similar expression on his face.

 

“Did you wake up an archdemon or why are you in such a hurry?” Zevran asked the Warden Commander with a chuckle.

  
“Where are you headed?” Mael asked, ignoring the Antivan.

 

“Uh…Hightown?” Garrett replied.

 

Mael shook his head slowly. “Turn around, return to the Hanged Man and pack your belongings,” he told Anders. “Is there a way out of the city from here?”

 

“There’s a passage leading to the Wounded Coast, if it has not collapsed,” Fenris said. “What’s going on?”

 

“Trouble,” Mael said with a snort. “I was just informed that a troop of Templars as well as an army from Starkhaven, led by someone called Vael, is nearing Kirkwall.”

 

“Sebastian?” Hawke blinked. “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, Kirkwall sent for help.”

 

“You know him, then.”

 

“Templars?” Anders asked, worriedly. “How many?”

 

“Too many, from what I hear. It is indeed true that Kirkwall sent for help. It may be the reason your friend Sebastian is on his way here, but the Templar order sent men to restore order in Kirkwall. The Divine granted the Right of Annulment, should there be no other way.”

 

“She can’t do that!” Anders exclaimed angrily.

 

“As it is, the Templars are _accompanied_ by this Vael,” Mael continued. “If the rumors are true, then the Templars believe that mages, led by an apostate who has been hiding in Kirkwall for years, caused the destruction of Kirkwall.”

 

Anders paled, eyes wide.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Fenris snarled. “They cannot blame an innocent man for the actions of a Templar Commander who has taken things a little too far.”

  
“Which is probably also blamed on…the _apostate_ who led the mages, I assume?” Anders asked.

 

“It may just be rumors,” Mael said.

  
“What about Cullen?” Hawke asked. “He knows what happened.”

 

“It’s his word or perception of the situation against the word of those who must have informed the order in the first place.”

 

“Which was obviously someone here in Kirkwall,” Zevran concluded thoughtfully.

 

“But I didn’t do anything,” Anders hissed. “Maker, I know I put that explosive together, but I didn’t _do_ it.”

 

“And whoever informed them probably knew you created that explosive,” Fenris said quietly, his hand finding Anders’ and grabbing it tightly.

 

“How reasonable is this Sebastian Vael?” Mael asked Hawke. “Will he listen?”

 

“He’s a former Chantry brother who decided to avenge the murder of his family and reclaim his throne,” Anders gritted out before Hawke could answer. “And he _hates_ my guts.”

 

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Hawke said soothingly. “The two of you surely had your disagreements, but –“

 

“I made no secret of my disapproval on how the Grand Cleric handled the situation in the Circle, here in Kirkwall, Garrett. If a Templar says I caused the destruction of Kirkwall, during which Elthina was killed, whom do you think he will most likely believe? The apostate fighting for mage rights or a faithful little Templar bastard?”

 

Hawke frowned at that, his expression a worried one now. “But we weren’t even in Kirkwall when this happened. We know enough people who will confirm that fact.”

  
“Who? Varric?” Anders huffed. “Varric is great and these two do have a great connection, but Varric is also a notorious liar on occasion. You, he will expect to try and protect me. The Wardens?” Anders pointed at Mael. “Of course they will say I was with them. The Grey Wardens protect their own.”

 

“The mage is right,” Fenris agreed quietly. “The Templars won’t ask questions and they will not wait for Sebastian to have a friendly little chat with us about what happened to Kirkwall. _We_ don’t even know _what_ exactly happened. From what I gathered, Meredith never actually said she caused this. We have assumptions, few Templars who may know it was not the deed of one angry apostate mage and any mage who _could_ know has left Kirkwall by now.”

 

“Andraste’s _ass_!” Anders shouted, angry and desperate, freeing himself from Fenris’ hold to walk away a few steps.

 

“Lower your voice, beautiful,” Zevran admonished.

 

“Did Cullen know about this when he asked for Anders’ assistance?” Fenris snarled at Hawke.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but…” Hawke shrugged helplessly.

 

“Cullen may have only just received the news when I overheard the messenger talking to a noble,” Mael said.

  
“Even so, I do not trust him to disregard orders and let Anders go after he did what Cullen asked him for,” Fenris muttered. “The Chantry wants to see someone’s head on a pike.”

 

“I agree,” Hawke said with a nod. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders, but he’s also loyal to a fault.”

 

Mael sighed. “Until we know whether it is safe or not, and until we know whether or not they are willing to talk and see reason –“

 

“—I need to leave Kirkwall,” Anders finished for the Warden Commander. Fenris regarded the upset mage for a moment. The anger from a moment ago was now replaced by resignation – and fear. For years, the mage had been relatively safe in Kirkwall and had seen no need to run from anything, but Fenris knew there was no way the Templars – or Sebastian – would stop until they were assured Anders was no longer in Kirkwall.

 

“Let’s return to the Hanged Man and get prepared,” Fenris told his mage.

 

 

~*~

 

Lianni had made herself small on the small couch she had vacated the previous night, eyes wide and fearful as Fenris rushed through Varric’s room, gathering what little personal belongings they owned. Anders was quiet, rolling up a thin blanket to take along; something to hopefully keep warm with during the cold nights ahead.

 

“You should leave your feathered coat,” Fenris suggested as he stuffed Anders’ pillow into a bag. “You were known for wearing it. They will look out for someone wearing a feathered coat.”

 

“I know,” Anders mumbled.

 

“We should find you a cloak or something. You can keep your hair and face hidden beneath a hood.” Fenris dropped the bag next to Anders so he could stuff the rolled-up blanket into it as well. “I shall check the larder for any food we can take along that won’t go rotten within a day or two.”

 

“Are you going aways?” Lianni asked quietly.

 

“I have to go away,” Anders told her. “At least for a little while.”

 

Fenris paused by the door and turned around. “Mage…”

 

“You have no reason to run, Fenris,” Anders pointed out. “And someone needs to keep an eye on her.” He nodded at Lianni, who, in turn, glanced at Fenris.

 

“Neither do you,” Fenris countered. “This is merely for your safety. You have done nothing wrong, Anders.”

 

“I put this _blighted_ explosive together!” Anders stuffed the blanket into the bag angrily. “I may as well have been the one who did it, Fenris. I _would_ have been the one, if circumstances hadn’t changed dramatically over the past weeks!”

 

“Anders.”

 

Furious amber eyes snapped up, meeting calm emerald ones. “What?”

 

“You are not leaving without me,” Fenris told him firmly. “Do not make _me_ chase you as well. Because I will and I will find you. But be assured I’ll be rather annoyed with you if I have to hunt you down.”

 

“You –“ Anders blinked at the elf. “That –“

 

“Understood?” Fenris crossed his arms.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Anders told him.

 

“I am aware, mage. But I want to.” Fenris’ lips quirked up a fraction. “Now roll up another blanket, fool mage. Search the room for a map. I know Varric has plenty of those and we might be in need of one.” He turned around. “You better still be here when I return.”

 

The mage sighed loudly. “I promise.”

 

Fenris gave a sharp nod and hurried downstairs.

 

Mael and Hawke had just finished telling Varric and Isabela what was going on. Isabela looked exasperated and Varric was glowering. Varric was usually no one to get positively pissed off over something or if he did, he didn’t show it; this time, the dwarf made no secret what he thought about the recent events.

  
“This is a pile of nug shit,” he growled. “What blighted idiot would deliver such information to the Chantry and send the Templars upon Kirkwall?”

 

“Someone who may have an interest in covering for Meredith,” Hawke mused. “Someone with an incredible hate for mages?”

 

“Someone who knew about the explosives all along and we still don’t know who stole it from Anders’ clinic and smuggled it into the Gallows,” Mael added.

 

“I am more than ever convinced we had a Templar snoop around in Darktown,” Varric said. “How easy would it be for a Templar to pretend they are a poor sod wasting away in Darktown and come to Anders’ clinic for help?”

 

“Very easy,” Zevran admitted.

 

Fenris paused his steps, halfway toward the staircase leading into the basement. “Anders would have known,” he said. “He can sense lyrium. Even smell it. He knows whenever I am close and he has mentioned sensing it on Templars, too.”

 

“Maybe they convinced one of the mages to spy on him, in exchange for something of great importance for them,” Mael suggested.

 

“Almost every mage has something of great importance to them,” Hawke agreed. “Family, for example.”

 

“Good luck finding proof for that,” Isabela said with a snort.

 

Fenris left them briefly to go to the larder as planned. He could hear their muffled voices from the basement as he quickly grabbed half a loaf of stale bread, the only thing they had left. If they wanted to eat while on the run, Fenris figured they’d have to hunt.

 

“I will need daggers and knives,” Fenris told Varric upon returning to the main room of the Hanged Man.

  
“Of course,” Varric immediately agreed. “Anything else?”

 

“A map, if Anders hasn’t found one yet.”

 

“What about the little girl?” Zevran asked.

 

“She will have to stay here,” Fenris said. “A life on the run is not for a little girl. It is too dangerous.”

 

“You can’t leave her here,” Zevran countered. “Cullen thinks she is Anders’ child, yes?”

 

Isabela snorted, a humorless smile on her face.

 

“So?”

 

“And what does the Circle _do_ with mage children?” Varric prompted.

 

Fenris froze for a moment. “Fasta vass,” he cursed.

 

“How long will it take for the Templars and Vael to arrive here?” Hawke asked. “I assume we still have time?”

 

“A few days, at the most, from what I heard,” Mael supplied.

 

“If you seriously consider the Wounded Coast as a hideout, I will have to object,” Varric said. “Still too close and it’s a fucking death trap once they come for Anders. You need to get out of the city and as far away as possible.”

 

“The Free Marches are not an option either, obviously,” Hawke added.

 

“Sebastian will have spies everywhere, so definitely not,” Varric agreed.

 

Isabela perked at that. “When I stole away with the Qunari artifact, I discovered a well-hidden passage not too far from the main gates. It leads away from prying eyes and eventually ends on the coastline, east of Kirkwall.”

 

Varric hummed thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “You still have your coin, Fenris?”

 

Fenris frowned. “I do. Why do you ask?”

 

“East of Kirkwall lies Ostwick.”

 

Hawke smiled, catching on. “Of course! You could get on a ship and away from the Free Marches.”

 

“Pay them the right amount of coin and they won’t ask any questions,” Varric said with a nod. “Not to mention sailors always love having a healer around that takes care of their…rashes.” He winked at Isabela, who scowled at the dwarf in return.

 

“And where do you suggest we go, if we indeed manage to get aboard a ship?” Fenris asked.

 

“Ferelden,” Mael said simply. “Try to get aboard a ship that takes you to Amaranthine. Anders will be able to lead you to Vigil’s Keep from there.”

 

Fenris’ eyebrows shot up. “To Vigil’s Keep? Back to the Wardens?”

 

“Do you have a better idea, Fenris?” Hawke asked. “Because I don’t. You have nothing to fear from the Wardens.”

 

“Only from Sigrun. Or Velanna, maybe,” Zevran said with a smirk and Mael huffed out a laugh.

 

“And what if that plan fails?” Fenris asked. “What if we cannot find a ship that takes us to Amaranthine?”

 

“Unlikely,” Varric said. “Even if you don’t find a captain in Ostwick willing to take you aboard, there are always enough poor sods who’d take you over in their tiny fishing boats, if you offer the right amount of coin.”

  
“Anders managed to get out of Ferelden somehow, he’ll manage to return to Ferelden as well,” Mael stated simply.

 

Fenris sighed, considering everything his friends had suggested. Eventually, he gave a small nod. “Ostwick then.”

 

“I’ll get you out of the city after nightfall,” Isabela offered. “They won’t see us sneaking around in the dark.”

 

“Until then, I suggest the two of you finish packing and get some rest,” Mael added. “Anything you need, we can take care of until then.”

 

“Assuming it might not be safe for Anders to travel in his Grey Warden armor, and the feathered coat will give him away immediately, he needs something more subtle,” Fenris murmured. “We will also need food.”

 

“Sounds like the perfect job for two thieves, eh, Isabela?” Varric said with a grin.

 

“And there goes my beauty sleep.” Isabela sighed dramatically.

 

“I shall prepare to leave as well,” Mael said. “I will go ahead and return to Vigil’s Keep and wait for you to reach Amaranthine. Zevran has people there who will keep an eye out for you.” Zevran inclined his head in confirmation.

 

“Ah, it’s gonna become quiet and boring around here again,” Varric joked. “Alright then…let’s get started. We only have a few hours left before it gets dark.”

 

“We also need to come up with a story to tell our soon-to-arrive visitors, yes?” Zevran suggested.

 

Hawke frowned. “I will have to speak to Aveline.”

 

“Good luck with that,” the dwarf laughed.

 

“Thank you,” Fenris murmured and it became quiet around him for a moment. He could feel five pairs of eyes resting on him and his ears warmed. “But, and I also speak on behalf of Anders, I must ask that neither of you endangers themselves unnecessarily. I will get the mage and Lianni out of this city, one way or another.”

 

The silence stretched for another long moment until Varric let out a rather loud, annoyed sigh. “Just shut up, Broody.”

 

~*~

 

Despite the quiet, and the knowledge that their friends, once more, did everything within their power to keep them safe, rest wouldn’t come.

 

Fenris had retreated to the bed, eventually joined by Lianni, who curled up against him and fell asleep almost instantly. Anders, though, remained by the small window, hunched on a chair, and watched the sky darken with each passing hour. It had rained briefly again, finally relieving the humidity and clearing the air. It would be a cold night, Fenris figured, and spending it on the run would at least keep them warm.

  
Fenris didn’t dare close his eyes. Occasionally, Anders looked ready to just get up and leave and he wouldn’t put it past the mage to sneak out while he was asleep, more concerned with Fenris’ well-being, or that of their companions, than his own. He was fidgeting when he wasn’t just sitting there, staring at the cloudy sky and waiting for the inevitable.

 

The mage had agreed with the idea of trying to reach Ostwick and getting aboard a ship to Ferelden almost immediately. It did make the most sense, if they were right in their assumption that Sebastian, as well as the Templars, would approach Kirkwall from the north. If they were still a few days worth of travel away, they would be able to slip away before anyone caught sight of them or noticed they were missing.

 

The idea of having to take Lianni with them had met more resistance from the mage, until Anders had realized that Lianni would be in too much danger and, in return, endanger their friends even more than they already were. Neither of them liked the idea of Hawke facing Sebastian as soon as he arrived and needing to come up with a story on their whereabouts. They had mostly gone unnoticed after returning to Kirkwall, but there was Cullen to consider. Not knowing how the Templar would pledge, Fenris had even briefly considered killing the Knight-Captain so he couldn’t talk.

 

“You have been on the run before, often,” Fenris said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake the sleeping child next to him. “as have I. We can do this, Anders. And once we can be certain that no harm will come to you for something you have not done, we shall return to Kirkwall.”

 

“I hope we won’t return to find our friends’ heads on pikes, decorating the Gallows’ walls,” Anders replied in kind.

 

“Hawke can look after himself. He can claim he killed you upon hearing those accusations and burned your body, so he has no corpse to present. He will not enjoy betraying you in such a manner, but he will do it, if it keeps you safe.”

 

Anders hummed in agreement. “The question is if Sebastian would buy it.” He smiled faintly. “It’s something he’d expect to hear from _you_ , not Hawke, you know.”

 

Fenris grimaced. “I hope you are aware, mage, that I would have never actually done it.”

  
“Done what?”

  
“Ripped your heart out for simply being a mage.”

 

Anders snorted softly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

“The only thing I would have done is deliver you from madness, had you turned into an abomination and actually become a danger,” Fenris murmured. “Yet I cannot say with certainty that I _could_ do it, should the day ever come.”

 

“Are you really sure you wanna do this?” Anders asked. “Run away with me, I mean. It is certainly not the life I had hoped we’ll have together.”

 

“I am content with the knowledge that you want a life with me by your side. I do not care how or _where_ we spend it.”

 

Fenris watched Anders swallow hard and for the first time in hours, Anders looked at him. Fenris had expected to find wariness - and exhaustion - reflected in the mage’s amber eyes but instead he saw a flicker of hope and a good amount of disbelief.

 

“I don’t deserve you,” Anders eventually said.

 

“You need to stop telling yourself you don’t deserve something. You keep telling everyone they deserve the world.” Fenris’ lips quirked up. “The same goes for you, mage.”

 

Anders smiled gently in response.

 

There was a gentle knock on their door and a moment later, Zevran risked a look into the room. “It is time,” he told the couple. “We should get ready to leave.”

 

Anders sighed deeply.

 

“Mael has already managed to find a ship that will take him back to Ferelden. A trading ship that just brought a few supplies,”  Zevran murmured. “He will await you at Vigil’s Keep.”

 

“And he left you behind?” Anders asked, surprised, while Fenris slowly sat up and shook Lianni awake.

 

“I am to see you off safely,” the Antivan declared with a playful smirk. “He will only be content, knowing you made it out of Kirkwall safe and sound, and hearing it from my lips.”

 

Anders rose from his chair and joined the assassin by the door. One hand reached up, grabbing Zevran’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze before pushing the elf against the doorframe. Zevran’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.

 

“Keep an eye on him Zev,” Anders told him quietly, their gazes locked. “ _Promise_ me.”

 

Zevran chuckled and wrapped an arm around the mage for a brief hug. “I will,” he whispered. “Worry not.”


	19. NINETEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited. My humble apologies for any mistakes.

Fenris pulled his hood deeper into his face and grabbed Lianni’s tiny form, lifting her up for Anders waiting above on the small hill separating them from the mountain pass. Lianni’s weight was lifted from his arms, then a slender hand grabbed the elf’s wrist and pulled him up.

 

A strong gush of wind surprised them, their cloaks wafting in the wind. Lianni made a distressed sound and Fenris picked her up once again, while leading them through the woods alongside of the pass, preferring the safety of the darkness to the pass on which they could be easily spotted by travellers or Sebastian’s spies.

 

It was colder tonight than they had anticipated, a storm gathering above the Vimmarks. They had abandoned their plan to travel along the coastline early on, worried about too many prying eyes. When they had left Kirkwall, most fugitives had disappeared from the area around the gates, but the gates had once again been guarded by the Templars and few of Aveline’s men. One Guardsman had kept watch near the passage leading out of Kirkwall, the one Isabela had mentioned. They didn’t know how the Guardsman had known, but were relieved when he’d told them with a quick nod of his head to carry on before anyone noticed them. Hawke must have spoken to Aveline and she, to Fenris’ surprise, had not objected against letting them leave.

 

“How long do you plan on walking?” Anders asked over the gentle howl of the wind.

 

“Until sunrise at least,” Fenris replied. “They will expect us to rest at night and travel during the day, should they come after us. Any camp we make will be guarded easier during the day.”

 

“It’s cold,” Lianni murmured against Fenris’ chest and the elf pulled her a little closer in hope to share enough of his body heat. It was a strain to walk with a heavy backpack and the child’s additional weight, but Fenris would be able to hold out for a little while.

 

Ahead of him, Anders nodded, a quick, worried glance cast at the child in Fenris’ arms.

 

“We should go a little deeper into the woods,” Anders suggested. “The trees will protect us from the wind.”

 

Instead of answering, Fenris did exactly that, heading deeper into the woods, closely followed by the mage. Indeed, the wind soon stopped tearing on them and once Lianni voiced that she was no longer too cold, Fenris put her down and took her hand instead. It was completely dark around them now and while it was not really a problem for Fenris and his elven eyes, he worried for Lianni and Anders possibly stumble and fall. When he searched for the mage, he found Anders right next to him. The mage flinched at the elf in surprise.

 

“Andraste’s tits!” Anders breathed out. “Your _eyes_ …”

 

Fenris huffed in amusement. “You only notice now? How long have we known each other, mage? They did the same thing at the cave-in.”

 

“I was…otherwise occupied,” Anders said slowly, once again glancing at his lover and the elf’s glowing eyes. “Besides, you usually had your markings lit when we talked, so your eyes didn’t do… _that_. Or I had my eyes closed.”

 

“You do make a point,” Fenris said, amused.

 

“At least I’ll always know where you are, Ser Glowing Eyes.”

 

“I am sorry to have startled you, amatus.”

 

Anders smiled at that. “Been a while since you called me that,” he pointed out meekly. He turned the palm of one hand up, calling a tiny flame of veil fire. Courtesy of Velanna. She hadn’t taught him many things, but this neat little trick had served him well often in the past.

 

Fenris huffed in response. “I shall endeavor to address you with terms of endearments more often from now on.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, _mage_ kind of sounds like a term of endearment by now as well.”

 

The elf chuckled. “It is meant as such, _fool mage_.”

 

“Wheres are we goings?” Lianni asked. “Whys dids we have to gos aways from Kirkwalls?”

 

Anders leaned in quickly to press a chaste kiss to Fenris’ lips before moving to walk on Lianni’s other side. The little girl lifted her free hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Anders took it. “Bad people are coming to Kirkwall,” he explained quietly. “It is no longer safe there.”

 

“Bads peoples likes Templars?”

 

“A lot of Templars, yes,” Fenris replied. “They want to hurt Anders and they might want to hurt you as well. So we are leaving Kirkwall and I will take you somewhere safe.”

 

A small, shocked gasp escaped the little girl, her tiny hand showing surprising strength when it curled tightly around three of Anders’ fingers. “But wheres are we goings now?”

 

“To a really beautiful place,” Anders said, offering an encouraging smile without knowing if Lianni could see it. The veil fire barely offered enough light for Anders to see where he was going. Lianni’s eyes did not glow in the dark, although her sure steps suggested she was seeing well enough. “It’s called Ferelden.”

 

“Fe—rel—den,” Lianni repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue.

 

“We’ll be visiting friends of mine, too. And you will see Uncle Mael again.”

 

“ _Uncle_ Mael?” Fenris snorted.

 

“Well, I guess Lianni has a lot of aunts and uncles now, yes?” Anders pursed his lips, then cursed when he stubbed his toes against something solid, almost tripping over it, too. A thick root he noted when he cast a quick look at the ground. “Children _need_ a family.”

 

Fenris thought about that for a moment; while he remembered having a mother, and having met his sister, Fenris could still not relate to what it was like to _have_ a family. He didn’t even bother questioning who his father was. His mother had been a slave, just like him, and surely the one or other magister had taken an interest in her. What few memories had returned concerning his ‘family’ lacked emotions, and he had long but stopped wondering or wanting to know more. It was easier to accept one’s fate, he thought, unless oppressed by others. What he had learned about family had been painful and he had not felt the need to experience more, thus far.

 

“What does that make us then?” the elf eventually asked, his keen elven ears catching the hitch in Anders’ breath at the question easily.

  
“We will talk later,” Anders promised quietly and Fenris smiled.

  
“Keeping secrets from me again?”

 

“No,” the mage assured. “It just took me a while to understand, and haven’t had the chance to tell you yet.”

 

“I see you are learning,” Fenris teased and Anders gave an indignant huff in response.

 

“Is Ferelden far aways?” Lianni asked and Fenris sighed inwardly at the neverending questions. She was _so_ curious; but it made sense, for someone who knew nothing about the world they were in, didn’t it?

 

“It will take a few days,” Anders replied. “We need to get on a ship first.”

 

“What’s a ships?”

 

“Do you remember the water you could see from the gates back in Kirkwall? The whole, whole lot of water?”

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Lianni confirmed.

 

“That is called a sea. And ships travel the sea and take you across. They are big and made of wood.”

  
“Oooh. Have you beens on a ships before?”

 

“Yes, a ship once took me to Kirkwall,” Anders confirmed with a small smile. “I was not sure back then, but taking a ship to Kirkwall turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, see…I found myself a Fenris and it seems I get to keep him.”

 

Lianni giggled, a brilliant smile on her small face when she looked up to the elf in question. “I founds a Fenris, too!” she exclaimed happily.

 

“That you did,” Anders said with a nod. Fenris felt his cheeks grow warm when he found himself looked at with adoration from two pairs of eyes.

 

“And Fenris and I founds an Anders!”

 

“I found him first,” Fenris teased the little girl. Lianni pouted at him.

 

“You cans shares!”

 

“Oh, can I? Maybe I don’t want to?”

 

“That’s mean, Fenris,” Anders chuckled, then cursed when he tripped again. Fenris let go of Lianni’s hand and grabbed the mage’s arm to steady him before he fell, face first, and shot him an amused grin. “Maker,” Anders muttered under his breath.

 

“Are you hurts?” Lianni asked, concerned.

 

“I’m good, I’m good,” Anders said with a chuckle. “I just don’t see as well in the dark as Fenris does.”

 

With a sigh, Fenris moved into their midst, one hand grasping Lianni’s, the other taking Anders’ hand. “Stay close,” Fenris murmured and smiled when Anders entwined their fingers and held on tight. “We should keep quiet now. The woods might have ears we don’t want to attract.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“One thing though, Anders,” Fenris added, keeping his voice low. “Even though I have no experiences on the matter to compare with… _something_ tells me you would make a wonderful father.”

 

Anders didn’t react at first and Fenris wondered if he had said something wrong. Eventually, the mage huffed and shook his head. “You need to stop doing that, Fenris.”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Saying…beautiful things. I’m getting the impression you’re trying to make cry, blighted elf.”

 

Fenris frowned. “I apologize, Anders, I do not –“

 

“Happy tears, stupid,” Anders cut him off with a small laugh. “Happy tears.” Fenris glanced at him and indeed, the mage seemed on the verge of tearing up, but there was a smile on his lips when he looked at the elf in return, eyes affectionate. There was a warm sensation in Fenris’ chest that made his toes and fingertips tingle.

 

It seemed he felt their tied life forces more strongly, now that he was actually _aware_ of the bond’s existence. Fenris found he liked it.

 

~*~

 

The sky was just beginning to brighten when a rain shower surprised them. The woods that cleared by now, the canopy of leaves that had offered them protection before no longer present and they were soaked within moments.

 

The lush green had given way to a desert region and Anders wondered how close they were to the Warden prison. The taint in his own blood tingled occasionally, but not strong enough to actually worry him or expect a Darkspawn attack. Deep Roads tunnels ran all across the Free Marches right beneath their feet and Anders wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the Darkspawn piling up down there.

 

Fenris was getting tired. He was carrying both their backpacks by now, since Anders was carrying a very tired, exhausted Lianni. She was dozing on and off in his arms, not even bothered by the rain soaking through her cloak. Her talent to sleep, no matter the surroundings, was something to admire, the mage thought.

 

“You need to rest,” Anders told the elf. “The sun is rising. Let’s try to find a shelter for a few hours. If we keep marching on while it’s pouring, we’ll get sick.”

 

“I don’t get sick, mage,” Fenris grunted. “And now hush.”

 

Anders made a face at him, mouth opening to protest.

 

“ _Hush_ , mage…we are not alone.” Fenris stopped walking and grabbed the mage’s shoulder to stop him as well. Pointy ears twitched as he listened intently, while the mage’s amber eyes scanned the area. Whatever it was Fenris heard, he didn’t like it.

  
“Slavers,” he muttered.

 

“Here?”

 

“There’s a Dalish camp on Sundermount,” Fenris pointed out quietly. “Slavers are always interested in elves, and someone might have told them where to look, intentionally or not.” He motioned for Anders to follow him quickly. Together, they darted off, close to the mountain pass and found a sand dune to hide behind. Anders could hear men talk loudly in the distance; one of them was slurring.

 

“The Dalish will know they are coming if they keep shouting like that,” Anders remarked with a snort. Lianni stirred in his arms and looked up. Anders placed a finger against his lips and told her to be silent.

 

Fenris growled. “I have no intention on letting them get that far.”

 

Anders frowned and dared to peek around the dune. He could finally spot the band of slavers. Five of them, one wounded, clutching his bandaged side, the cloth they had used to patch him up already soaked with blood; one looking ill, face pale, eyes glassy; and a third, swaying and slurring as he spoke, definitely drunk. They were trailing after the after two, who looked well-armed, eyes watchful as they walked. Occasionally, the tallest of the two would roll his eyes at the drunk one’s shoutings, his patience obviously wearing thin.

 

“Not from Tevinter,” the mage whispered after he’d studied their attire. “Antivan, maybe? They should be easy to take out, three of them won’t last long.”

 

Fenris slowly dropped Anders’ backpack, then shrugged off his own, revealing the broadsword he’d been carrying as well. He winced at the tension in his neck and shoulders and stretched his back in hope to relieve some of it, while he worked on taking off his cloak.

 

“It makes no difference,” Fenris growled.

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Anders agreed and glanced at Lianni, who was trying to make herself small in his arms. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Close your eyes and cover your ears. Will you do that for me?”

 

Lianni teared up but nodded, eyes squeezing shut and her hands coming up to cover her ears.

 

“You stay here with her,” Fenris told the mage.

  
“I will…but that doesn’t mean I can’t help.” Again, Anders peeked at the group of slavers. “I’ll paralyze the two that are in good shape. It will give you time to cut down the three losers behind them,  before you take care of them.”

 

Fenris blinked at the mage in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed you this ready to shed some blood,” he remarked with a smirk.

 

Anders rolled his eyes. “Go.”

 

Fenris’ markings flared to light and without second thought, he jumped across the dune and drew his sword. As he ran, he could see the paralysis glyph appear beneath the two strongest slavers who froze instantly. The other three had barely recovered from the surprise of being attacked when Fenris reached them and swung his sword. The drunk one fell first, head severed from his shoulders. There was a silly smile on his face still when the head rolled away a few feet. The ill one did reach for his daggers, but the fever made him too slow to react. The sharp edge of Fenris’ sword cut open his throat before thrusting into the wounded one’s ribcage. Panting, Fenris paused for a moment, satisfied to see blood trickle into the sand, coloring it a dark brown.

 

He dropped the sword then and marched over to the two slavers still trapped in Anders’ paralysis glyph. With a yell, Fenris lifted both hands, phased and thrust one first into either man’s chest. He felt their madly beating hearts beneath his fingertips and grinned before closing his hands around them and squeezed the blood-filled muscles. He then hoicked, relieving the slavers of their hearts. The glyph faded away and they went down.

 

Fenris stared at his blood-stained hands and snarled, then dropped the ripped-out organs to retrieve his sword. The pouring rain had washed most of the blood on Fenris and his sword away by the time he rejoined with Anders and Lianni. The little girl was still cowering, eyes closed, ears covered, waiting for either them to tell her it was fine now.

 

Anders was regarding him curiously. “If that is how you deal with slavers,” he said, “I wonder what fate awaits any magister that crosses your path, love.”

 

The elf huffed, head tilting back slightly as he let the rain rinse away the blood on his skin and armor. “It is unlikely we encounter any magisters unless they are currently traveling for education,” he said then. “They send others to do the dirty work and will only come themselves if all other options have failed and the matter is of too great importance to just let go of.”

 

“Like Danarius, when came for you?”

 

“He came because the slavers had failed. _Hadriana_ had failed. And I’m wearing a fortune in lyrium on my body. An investment he sure cared about, more so than about me.” Fenris shook his head, white strands of hair clinging to his wet face. “Shall we move on?”

 

Anders nodded and gently shook Lianni. Her green eyes snapped open and she glanced around quickly.

 

“It’s alright,” Anders told her. “We need to keep going. I promise we’ll find shelter somewhere as soon as possible so you can get out of those wet clothes and sleep for a bit.”

 

Fenris sighed deeply and reached for the backpacks. “Let’s hurry.”


	20. TWENTY

The sudden commotion in the Gallows’ courtyard attracted Cullen’s attention immediately. Even though he’d been desperately wishing for a few hours of restful sleep, the moment he found a cot to lie down on, sleep wouldn’t come. His nerves were still frail, his hands still trembled slightly and hadn’t stopped doing so since Meredith had turned into an abstruse statue, eyes wide and mouth opened to a silent scream toward the sky, like she was pleading for the Maker himself to descend and aid her questionable intentions. No matter how many times Cullen closed his eyes and told himself to relax, he couldn’t get that image out of his mind and every little noise had him flinch and sit up, one hand already reaching for his sword.

 

Waiting for abominations, lurking in the shadows, to come out and attack. The Gallows had been thoroughly searched and, apart from way too many dead bodies for Cullen’s liking, there had been no sign of abominations or angry mages waiting for their opportunity.

 

What had happened in the Gallows – it reminded Cullen too much of the night Uldred and his followers had taken over the Circle Tower in Kinloch Hold. He still woke at night, dreaming of terrified screams, demons and abominations, of being captured and unable to aid his brothers. Of the Warden Commander, temporarily leaving him to his Fate to take care of Uldred and free Irving from the maleficar’s hold. Back then, Cullen had put all the blame on the mages. He hadn’t been able to sleep at night and Greagoir had thought it best if Cullen relocated.

 

Cullen had admired Meredith’s strong reign over the Circle in Kirkwall. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that one day, he’d have to turn against her and actually protect _mages_ from her insanity. The Templars agreeing with him would have never been able to fight Meredith on their own, not with the powers that woman had at her fingertips – or rather, at the tip of that sword. Again, Cullen had to be rescued, this time by the Champion of Kirkwall and his friends. If he noticed mages slipping away afterwards, directly from the Gallows or from the city gates, Cullen would pretend not to notice. He still didn’t trust mages, but if there was one thing he liked even less than mages, it was injustice. And what had happened at the Gallows, what Meredith’s actions had caused, had forced the mages to do to themselves or others, it had been unjust.

 

The voices outside on the courtyard became louder and with a resigned sigh, Cullen got off the cot, grabbed his sword and went to have a look.

 

Against his expectations, it wasn’t Meredith’s distorted, lifeless form the fugitives had gathered around. After finding shelter in the Gallows, their number had increased; people that had been previously hiding in Lowtown or Darktown now sought shelter in the Gallows, deeming it a much safer place despite the horrors that had taken place here. Judging by the size of the crowd Cullen found in the courtyard now, even more had arrived while he’d been trying to get some rest.

 

In their midst, Cullen was surprised to spot Champion, accompanied by his dwarven friend and the Antivan elf Cullen remembered seeing at Kinloch Hold, accompanying the Hero of Ferelden, many years ago. The Champion was speaking quietly, soothingly, with the people around them; they all wore identical pleading expressions on their faces and Cullen marveled how they still looked up to this man. Rumors had it Kirkwall’s residents had been angered that their viscount had been absent during the destruction of Kirkwall, but Cullen saw no evidence of that.

 

He took his time, making his way over to Hawke to greet him. Cullen had expected to see him two days ago, hopefully accompanied by the mage most referred to as Healer. They had never come and the Templars had ended up needing to burn more bodies. Cullen couldn’t blame the apostate; he knew Anders well enough to know how much he despised Templars and he also knew why.

 

“Ah, Knight-Captain,” Varric greeted Cullen as soon as he was close enough.

 

Cullen inclined his head in greeting and froze under Hawke’s hard stare. “I am glad to see you again,” Cullen spoke up. “I was worried when you did not come to Hightown the other day.” He glanced around. “Did you bring the healer?”

 

“Who?” Hawke asked, almost casually and Cullen’s brows furrowed. There was a dangerous glint in the Champion’s eyes, even as he obviously pretended not to know whom Cullen was speaking of. A slightly snide remark was resting on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. He was tired and cranky and certainly in no state to argue with the Champion of Kirkwall.

 

“I was informed the Prince of Starkhaven is heading for Kirkwall to offer help and support,” Hawke said, his words casually spoken still. “Is that true?”

 

“I received word of that, yes,” Cullen agreed. “It would seem the viscounts of the Free Marches appointed him for the task.”

 

Varric snorted and shot Hawke an amused look. “Princeling has to prove himself worthy of Starkhaven’s throne first, eh?”

 

Hawke’s mouth quirked up. “And why is he accompanied by Templars, I wonder? Does he seek the support of the Free Marches or the Chantry?”

 

“You know as well as I do that whenever there are severe issues at any of the Circles, the Chantry will send out Templars to investigate and assist in restoring order,” Cullen replied easily. “It is nothing I have any influence on. The Chantry will want to know exactly what happened.”

 

Hawke looked doubtful and cast a glance at what was left of Kirkwall’s former Knight-Commander. “I do wonder what they will have to say about finding Stannard like this,” he mused. Cullen watched the Champion exchange a look with the quiet elf by his side and when the Knight-Captain dared to blink, the elf was gone. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but Cullen’s gaze was hastily traveling across the courtyard to see where the Antivan had disappeared to.

 

“I will be able to report to the Divine _what_ happened to the Knight-Commander,” Cullen said. “But I cannot tell _how_ it happened or where she even got that sword from.” He paused. “Or the explosives that she apparently used to destroy Kirkwall.” The voices around them grew louder again; insults against the Templars and Meredith. Fearful questions on the whereabouts of the Circle mages. Desperate inquiries on how they should proceed, now that their homes lay in ruins.

 

“Will the Templars aid Kirkwall in rebuilding the city?” Hawke asked. “It would seem Hightown took the worst of it.”

 

Cullen nodded in agreement. “I am not sure how much the Chantry will be able to help.”

 

“Other than rebuilding the _Chantry_ , you mean?” Varric quipped and Cullen huffed out an amused laugh at that.

  
“Naturally, that will be their biggest concern. I will not lie to you about that,” he answered honestly. “But the order will want to compensate the people of Kirkwall for what was done to their homes.”

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at that. “I will assume that depends on _what_ the order will believe?”

 

Cullen frowned. “I am not sure I –“

 

“From what I hear, Vael is leading an _army_ to Kirkwall, accompanied by Templars,” Hawke cut him off. “And rumors have it they do not believe what what happened to Kirkwall was the deed of the Knight-Commander, but rebellious Circle mages led by an apostate.”

 

The look of utter surprise on Cullen’s face told Hawke everything he needed to know. “You weren’t the informant,” he realized.

 

“I might not trust mages,” Cullen murmured, “but we fought here _together_. I realize what you are aiming at. I came to you in hope the apostate you count among your friends would help the injured and dying. After everything that has happened, I would have not sold him out in such a manner, not to mention it is not the truth.”

 

Hawke nodded. “And will you tell that Vael as well?”

 

Cullen nodded.

 

“I think I have found the perfect room in the Gallows for you, yes?”

 

Hawke could barely hide his amusement at the way Cullen almost jumped out of his skin when Zevran suddenly appeared behind him. The Antivan grinned smugly and slipped past the Templar to reclaim his spot by Hawke’s side. “It offers enough space.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked.

 

Varric gestured around. “You hear these people? They are asking for the Champion’s protection and guidance. Hawke was appointed viscount and has not been dismissed from that post just yet.”

 

“And you will need someone, a spokesperson, yes?” Zevran added. “The Prince of Starkhaven will only want to speak to someone equal in rang. It is the viscount’s duty to welcome him and his men to Kirkwall and make sure their needs are seen to, while they discuss matters.”

 

“Kirkwall will be rebuilt,” Hawke told the stunned Templar. “It is my home. I will do everything I can to make sure each and every resident can soon return to their homes and receive the aid they require to rebuild them. Despite what Meredith seemed to believe, such things are no matter of the Templar order, but a matter of the Free Marches and their rulers.”

 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Am I right to assume that you plan on carrying out your duties from the Gallows then?”

 

“I will be here every day to overlook everything.” Hawke glanced around. “For now, we need to make sure these people are fed and I do hope I can count on the Templars to help protecting them?”

 

Cullen looked overwhelmed and barely managed a nod before he walked off in search of his men. Zevran was still grinning smugly when Hawke cast a glance at him.

 

“We don’t have much time left until Sebastian shows up on our doorstep,” Varric murmured. “We best get to work. I’ll see if there are still any of my contacts hiding in Lowtown or Darktown. The one or other fella still owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can get to assist rebuilding Kirkwall.”

 

“What about Anders and Fenris?” Zevran asked quietly.

 

“That’s the part I dislike the most about this whole affair,” Hawke admitted with a sigh, shoulders slumping. He could hear people calling for him once again, wanting questions answered and their concerns heard. Something told him it was going to be a very long day.

 

Zevran’s hand slipped into his and squeezed gently.

 

~*~

 

Fenris awoke to the sound of a knife cutting sharply into skin and flesh. An instant flash of panic had him bolt upright, startling Anders crouching by their small camp fire. Wild, green eyes stared at the mage, then down to the mage’s hands, the knife – and the fat rabbit that Anders had caught for them.

 

With a grunt, Fenris let himself fall back on their bedroll and closed his eyes again. “What time is it?” he murmured.

 

“Early afternoon would be my guess,” Anders replied gently. “Did I startle you? I am sorry.”

 

Another grunt and Fenris debated going back to sleep again. Eventually, he decided to get up instead and help Anders preparing their meal.

 

Lianni was sleeping soundly near the fire, the blanket pulled up to her nose. Fenris smiled at her before glancing at the rabbit. “Please tell me you did not leave camp to catch that one,” he muttered.

 

“Actually, it came hopping toward me as I sat here,” Anders answered with a smile. “A tiny lightning bolt was all it took. I figured we could do with something else than dried meat and stale bread for a change.”

 

Fenris sat down next to Anders and glanced around. The past two days were kind of a blur by now. They had made good progress, the elf thought, but resting as little as possible and otherwise marching on stubbornly had taken its toll on the three of them. Lianni was usually the first to become exhausted, so Anders and Fenris had taken turns carrying her, whenever she was too tired to take another step. The storm on the night they had escaped had lasted an entire day, leaving them shivering and soaked and with no shelter.

 

The little cave they had spotted this morning, just as the sun rose, had looked too inviting to pass by, and Anders had insisted they make camp and that Fenris sleep until he was fully rested. The weather had been mild enough that they decided to sleep outside instead and Fenris had been out like a light the moment he’d curled up on his bedroll.

 

Fenris knew the mage was exhausted; he had looked more than ready to fall asleep by the time they had gotten settled, yet used an rejuvenation spell on himself, so he’d be fit enough to keep watch over them.

 

“Why don’t you get some sleep and I take care of the rabbit?” Fenris suggested.

 

Anders chuckled. “Believe it or not, by now I’m not too tired anymore. Caught a second wind, I guess.”

 

“Mage, if you don’t rest and we continue our way tonight, you’ll exhaust yourself too much,” Fenris chided.

 

“Actually, I was thinking we retreat to inside the cave and stay until tomorrow night.” Anders smiled at the elf. “It seems safe enough here and since we’ve made good progress, I think we can allow ourselves.”

 

“To linger anywhere for too long is too dangerous, Anders. We’re just south of Starkhaven and we do not know which route Sebastian took toward Kirkwall.”

 

Anders huffed. “He’ll take the fastest route, of course. He wouldn’t want to waste time, since he wants my head on a silver plate.”

  
Fenris made a face at him.

 

“We’re two days away from Kirkwall, far up the Vimmarks. We might have to return to the coastal area soon, or we’ll march past Ostwick and end up Maker knows where.” The mage focused his attention on the rabbit again and Fenris watched him disembowel the animal skillfully, then starting to skin it. It was clear that the mage had practice with this sort of thing, and Fenris found he shouldn’t be too surprised about it. Unlike himself, Anders surely had experience with preparing animals for cooking; whether that experience stemmed from when he was still a boy or the many times he’d been on the run, he could not say.

 

“You mentioned wanting to tell me something, concerning Lianni,” Fenris murmured, sensing Anders’ distress over their current situation and decided to change the subject.

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Anders sighed and put the rabbit aside. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he leaned carefully against the elf, sighing once again when strong arms enveloped him.

  
“Does this have to do with Justice?” Fenris asked. “You said his name, when we were at the mansion.”

 

“Yes. It would seem he feels guilty over what happened to him, and myself. He feels the need to make amends.”

 

“Shouldn’t he?”

 

Anders’ face darkened at that. “No, Fenris. He shouldn’t. If anything, I am as much to blame as he is. I keep priding myself for steering clear of demons. I learned about the risks. I learned Fade spirits can be perversed and turned into demons.” He sighed. “I had not anticipated that the hate and anger inside me was so great, it would influence him. I thought we’d be alright, because he was fine when his host was a dead body but that’s the entire problem – he didn’t have to share that body with anyone.”

 

Fenris shook his head slowly. “Justice should have been aware of I, too. Instead, he took the risk of turning into a demon, joining with you, and he became uncontrollable.”

 

“I’m not so sure it was actually Justice’s doing,” Anders murmured. “As you have realized yourself, what I believed to be Justice’s influence, it’s still present even though he’s gone.”

 

“You are speaking of Vengeance.”

 

“Yes.” Anders eyed the elf warily. “It’s still a part of me, Fenris. I’m starting to believe it’s always been a part of _me_ and had nothing to do with Justice turning into Vengeance. It was me. Obviously, merging with Justice made… _this_ possible, but…”

 

“Vengeance was your way to gain control over your spirit inside and use its powers in battle,” Fenris said. “It does make sense, mage.”

 

“It was me who faced what Justice has turned into, in the Fade, but it was Vengeance who fought him.” Anders smiled sadly. “As terrified as I’ve been at first, to know that some small part of Justice still remained, that he was still _there_ to some extent, it makes me feel much more at ease. He used to be a wonderful friend and I wish you would have had the chance to get to know him before we shared my body.”

 

Fenris frowned. “Why?”

 

“I think you would have liked him. And he would have been ready to fight for your cause as well. Fight against slavery. Free every slave in Thedas and take down their oppressors, one by one, drowing this world in blood.” Anders’ smile widened. “Tevinter would probably lie in ashes by now.”

 

The elf snorted. “So, you said Justice feels like he has to make amends. What did you mean by that?”

 

Anders nodded at Lianni. “Based on what Marethari and Merrill suggested, I believe Justice’s wish to make amends is what formed Lianni. It’s no coincidence she looks the way she does, Fenris. She has traits from both of us and it was intended. Just like her _name_ was obviously intended. Justice kept saying ‘I want you to have this’ before he became silent. I haven’t heard or even sensed him since. He’s…probably gone for good now.”

 

Fenris mulled over the words as he broke their embrace, and carefully took the knife from Anders to continue to work on the rabbit. “He wants you to have this,” he repeated. “Lianni. A child.”

 

Anders shrugged, looking even more tired now than he had moments ago.

 

“He wanted you to be a father?” Fenris asked to clarify.

 

“I don’t know what his intentions were exactly. He likes to be cryptic, I guess.” The mage sighed. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be a father. I keep thinking he just wanted me to have someone I can raise to understand, to not be judgemental when it comes to mages. Someone who will learn and thrive, the way he could not when I was hosting him inside my body. But then I look at her and see so much of _you_ and end up confused.”

 

“He meant to make amends. He gave you something you would otherwise probably never have, mage,” Fenris pointed out. “You once said yourself that the taint in your blood renders you infertile.”

 

“It is widely assumed that Grey Wardens are infertile, yes, although I’ve heard rumors that some still managed to have children,” Anders agreed. “I can’t say I actually _tried_ to impregnate a woman, can I.”

 

Fenris huffed at that and Anders chuckled. “Not planning to, love, do not worry.”

 

“I do not worry, amatus. I trust you.” Fenris cut into the rabbit, willing his ears to _not_ pink, and failed terribly. “But you may want to consider that Justice…” He paused. “…that he indeed _meant_ to give us a child.”

 

Anders glanced at Lianni once again and Fenris hid a smirk when he saw the slightest of blushes creep into the mage’s cheeks. “Would you… _want_ to see her that way?” Anders asked quietly. “Can you imagine her to call you ‘father’?”

 

Green eyes locked gaze with amber ones and they stared at each other, bemused.

 

“Can…you?” Fenris managed to ask.

 

“I don’t know. She’s sweet. She’s beautiful and…she looks so much like you, Fenris.”

 

“But?”

 

“She unsettles me.”

 

Fenris frowned. “Still? You…seemed comfortable with her, these past few days.”

 

Anders shook his head and Fenris realized the mage didn’t even know the answer himself. Slowly, Fenris leaned close and pressed a kiss to the blond’s temple.

 

“Get some rest,” the elf told his lover. “As long as we remain safe, I agree that we should spend another night here to rest and rally our strength.”

 

“Alright,” the mage agreed and slowly got up to make his way to the bedroll Fenris had slept in.

 

“Uhm…mage?”

 

Anders glanced curiously at the elf, who was poking the rabbit with the knife. “What…were you planning on doing with it? Roast it? How long…would it need?”

 

The blond snorted out a laugh and Fenris’ ears dropped with embarrassment. “I guess I’ll sleep in a little while and finish this first, hm?” Anders teased with a warm smile.


	21. TWENTY-ONE

With a loud sigh, Hawke lowered the letter he’d been reading and shook his head.

 

That Zevran had decided Meredith’s former office was the perfect place to operate from wasn’t surprising; Hawke had actually laughed when Zevran had led him here. Surprised, Hawke was at the contents of Meredith’s drawers. Varric had picked the locks for him before taking off to find his past contacts and Hawke had taken it upon himself to see _what_ exactly Meredith had been up to, when no one was looking.

 

He knew that, years back, when Anders had worried for every mage in Kirkwall and Ser Alrik’s attempt to gain the right of making them all Tranquil, Meredith had objected. Evidence for that could be found in the bottom drawer, where she had discussed the matter back and forth with Ser Alrik, the Divine and the Grand Cleric. But her letters changed throughout the time after that discussion and eventually, Hawke had ended up with the letter she had written, requesting the Right of Annulment for the Circle of Kirkwall.

 

Two weeks prior to the destruction of the city.

 

The exposure to red lyrium seemed more dangerous than Hawke had originally anticipated. Bartrand had lost his mind with no chance of recovery, so Varric had done the only thing that seemed right. But apart from abandoning them in the Deep Roads and setting up a trap in his estate, Bartrand hadn’t been an _actual_ danger to people, at least not by the time they meant to confront him about it.

 

What it seemed to have done to Meredith though…

 

Hawke realized he would have to keep the letters close to him. As Varric had pointed out, until they had talked to Sebastian and heard what Cullen had to say about the current situation of Kirkwall’s Circle, and the events leading to it, they couldn’t trust anyone. Hawke sincerely doubted the Chantry could be trusted on the matter in general. Not this time, at least.

 

They had to hide these documents and make sure they were kept safe until they were needed. Something Anders would have done, Hawke realized. While Hawke himself had believed, now and then, that Anders’ difficult experiences with the Circle had led to his rather negative view on Circles and the Chantry in general, reading through the letters, notes and reports in Meredith’s desk had taught him better. He had found reports of mages claiming to have been raped and physically abused and making Meredith aware of it. He’d found records listing the mages who had filed a complaint and sought the Knight-Commanders help having been made Tranquil and deemed a danger – by Templars whose sincerity was questionable to begin with: Ser Alrik and Ser Karras.

 

Hawke had even found a few letters that Anders and Karl had exchanged and realized that Meredith, indeed, had always known _who_ Anders was and what his plans had been, coming to Kirkwall. That she had let him remain free for so long was actually a miracle – or part of a very cruel plan that she had forged for years and Anders’ occasional paranoia about her actions had been justified since the beginning.

 

All those years of aiding Anders where he could, protecting the mage, listening to his reasons and arguments and agreeing that something that to change – and now, sitting here, Hawke felt like he owed his best friend an apology.

 

A mug was placed before him and Hawke looked up in surprise.

 

“So, I was making my round in the Gallows while you were hiding in here,” Zevran told him casually. “It would seem a young recruit was the one reporting to the Templar order about Kirkwall. A young, somewhat foolish, dutiful boy with great ambitions, who had just recently learned that reporting immediately was the right thing to do. He left Kirkwall soon after its destruction and went straight to Wildervale.”

 

Hawke sighed. “He can hardly be blamed for fulfilling his duties. Of _course_ , the news reached Starkhaven shortly after…”

 

“And the Prince of Starkhaven as well as the Templar order immediately agreed to march for Kirkwall,” Zevran concluded with a nod. “While the Circle in Starkhaven is still being rebuild, the Templars do not require all of their men to guard it.”

 

“What of the rumors that the mages caused this?” Hawke asked, concerned.

 

“I heard no word of the recruit having delivered that message.” Zevran sighed. “Maybe your friend Sebastian came to this conclusion?”

 

Hawke groaned. “Maker, I hope not. Anders and Sebastian never really got along, but I sincerely hope Sebastian won’t actually believe it was Anders’ doing. They had their disagreements, but mostly because Sebastian defended the Chantry in general. The Templars too, sometimes, but I doubt he’d agree with what happened here if he knew the truth.”

 

Zevran hummed in agreement and sat on the desk. “So…what are you going to tell him about Anders?”

 

“I will tell him he’s dead, so Sebastian won’t start looking for him.” Hawke looked pained at the prospect. “I just need a believable story to sell to him. That’s the hardest part.”

 

“And how will you explain Anders’ return, should such ever happen?” Zevran asked with a smile. “That his Fade spirit revived him?”

 

“Do you honestly think we’ll see them again?” Hawke asked thoughtfully. “I’d love to. I miss them already. But they are safer while as far away from Kirkwall as possible.”

 

“I learned that you always meet twice.” Zevran slid across the desk until he sat in front of Hawke and leaned forward, thighs parted and legs resting against either side of the chair Hawke occupied. “Sebastian will want to see Anders’ dead body. Have you considered that possibility?”

 

“I am actually _concerned_ that he’ll ask to see him,” the taller man admitted. “I can’t just go kill someone who looks like Anders? Dress him in Anders’ clothes, maybe burn him?”

 

“No, you can’t,” the Antivan agreed with a gentle smile. “But I can.”

 

Hawke frowned. “Zev…you can’t just…”

 

“Can’t I?” Zevran challenged with a smirk. “I am a trained assassin, Garrett. I was _paid_ to kill people. I do not feel guilty over it?”

 

“So, would you be able to just kill me and leave, then?”

 

The elf’s smirk faltered and Hawke witnessed his mask slip; the terrified expression that lasted only seconds before Zevran schooled his features back into a frown. “I did not say I could kill _everyone_ ,” Zevran said quietly. “And there are mistakes I’ve made that I do not wish to repeat.” Again, Zevran moved, moving across the desk and hopped off it. “As it is, Sebastian will demand proof…I will make sure he gets it and you won’t ask questions. As a regent, you sometimes _have_ to make terrible decisions, Garrett. It is best you learn that as soon as possible.”

 

“I don’t want to rule,” Hawke objected. “Just help Kirkwall get back on its feet.”

 

“That is technically the same thing.” The smirk was back and Zevran winked at him. “I shall see to finding…a _suitable_ proof to show to Sebastian. From what I hear, he’s less than a two day’s ride away by now.”

 

“Before you leave…” Hawke held up the letters he deemed most important. “We need to hide those. They contain information we might need, regarding Meredith and her…plans.”

 

Zevran nodded and quickly took them from Hawke. “Worry not. I will make sure they are kept hidden,” he promised. “You may want to return to the Courtyard. The supplies that arrived from Ferelden by ship are being brought here now. Cullen fears people will start fighting over them.”

 

“Oh, that sounds like so much fun,” the dark haired man quipped. “What does he expect me to do?”

 

Zevran chuckled. “People are distrustful of Templars. Just seeing you there may help keeping the chaos at bay.”

 

Hawke sighed deeply and nodded, while pushing the drawer he’d searched last closed. He leaned back in the heavy chair and regarded Zevran for a moment. “I might stay here tonight,” he let the elf know, trying to sound casual. And failing.

 

“Very well?” The elf’s eyebrows rose. “It is probably a good idea.”

 

“Will you stay with me?” Hawke grinned and Zevran chuckled throatily.

  
“Maybe?” He winked. “For now, I shall make preparations. I will return before midnight.”

 

“I’ll take what I can get,” Hawke teased and got up from the chair, grin widening when he could see the faintest of blushes on the Antivan’s cheek as the blond elf hurried out of Meredith’s office.

~*~

 

Surprisingly, Varric was already waiting for Hawke in the Gallows’ Courtyard, perching on a huge boulder and regarding the men that were carrying bags and crates into the place. Hawke figured he’d spent a few hours in Meredith’s office, if the dwarf had managed to leave to find his contacts, and return in the meanwhile.

 

Cullen stood in the Courtyard’s center, already debating with an upset father, who had his two children cling to each of his legs. They looked terrified and hungry.

 

“How did you get up there?” Hawke teased his dwarfen friend as he cautiously approached the situation.

 

“I had Templars lift me up,” Varric shot right back with a toothy grin. “Zevran informed you then?”

 

Hawke nodded and leaned against the boulder Varric sat on, regarding Cullen and the upset father, who demanded the kids should be the first to receive something; of course, what few nobles had gathered at the Gallows by now protested. Hawke could only shake his head at them; they had lost everything, just like the poor surrounding them, and still believed they came first. Had they learned nothing yet?

 

“We will make sure everyone gets their fill,” Cullen tried to calm the angry man. “And of course, the children will be taken care of first and foremost. We are all hungry and tired and I will make no difference between merchants and nobles. Everyone gets the same amount, the children a little more if needed. Now please, I am asking everyone to stand _back_ while the supplies are being delivered. _Please_ be reasonable!”

 

“I remember scenes like this one, while running from Ostagar to get my family out of Lothering,” Hawke murmured. “Most towns and villages burning to the ground…whoever could save themselves and their family moved on to places that had not been overrun by Darkspawn yet. People tried to help where they can but eventually, they ran out of supplies, too, and more fugitives came daily.”

  
“Ah,” Varric said with a nod of his head. “That’s where your compassion for Kirkwall comes from, then. You couldn’t help Lothering, so you do what you can for this Maker forsaken place.”

 

Hawke snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a Maker forsaken place, but…” He shrugged. “I guess you do have a point. Although my idea of rebuilding home usually included _everyone_ I care about.”

 

The dwarf hummed in agreement.

  
“Champion!” a few people from the crowd that had gathered called out and Hawke already felt a headache coming up. He did have a good heart, but lacked patience. Patience was Anders’ fortitude and right now, he really missed his best friend. Anders had experience with this kind of thing, from his work at the clinic. Hawke had often watched him talk to the numerous people, seeking healing or just  a piece of bread and a comforting word; he had admired Anders’ patience with them, despite the clinic about ready to burst and the mage not knowing where to start. He had seen to every single one of them, no matter how exhausted that made him. Hawke had wanted to learn.

 

He still wasn’t a very patient person.

 

“You have that look on your face again,” Varric observed with a chuckle. “Ready to despair, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m just…” Hawke sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I worry I won’t have the patience to see this through, if there’s indeed chaos about to ensue.”

 

The dwarf grinned and slid off the boulder. “I have an idea,” he said. “I may just know the person to help you with this.”

 

~*~

 

Even though Fenris was reluctant to admit as much, leaving the mountain pass to return to closer to the coastal area had been the right decision. The further they had advanced on the mountain pass, the more deserted the Vimmarks became. By the time not even the scavengers dared to enter the area, Fenris knew it was too dangerous to continue. Their water supply was limited, their skins needing regular refills. There was no chance of catching something for dinner and their rations would not last longer than for maybe another two days, three if they were spare.

 

The air had been unbearably humid and when Lianni had stated she felt like she couldn’t breathe, Anders demanded they left the mountain pass for good and went with their original plan to travel along the coast to Ostwick.

 

It had taken half a day to return to the more lush plains. The air, now clear, carried a slightly salty scent and smelled of rain as they marched, Lianni a few feet ahead, gazing around curiously.

 

Fenris felt Anders take his hand and squeeze it gently.

 

“You’ve been very quiet,” Anders murmured. “Is anything the matter?”

 

“Just exhausted,” Fenris replied in kind and caressed over the back of Anders’ hand reassuringly. “I’d like to find a safe spot soon to get some rest.”

 

Anders hummed thoughtfully and nodded.

 

“I am not having second thoughts about _this_ ,” the elf assured and the mage sighed, offering him a tired smile.

 

“I won’t hold it against you if you do, though.”

 

Fenris huffed in response and linked their fingers, tightening his hold on the other man’s hand.

 

“I worry about Garrett.”

 

“And he worried for you,” Fenris pointed out calmly.

 

“Yes and I’m running _again_ ,” Anders said bitterly. “Why did I never stop to think about it? The right decision would have been to stay.”

 

“And do what, exactly?” Fenris demanded as he abruptly stopped walking, making Anders pause his steps as well. “Face an army from Starkhaven and the Templar order for a crime you did not commit?”

 

“Just how exactly is me running away again proving my innocence?” Amber eyes looked at the elf challengingly. “For all we know, Garrett is right now making up a story that Sebastian won’t believe. He might get _killed_ , Fenris! And Varric and Isabela. Have you ever paused to consider that possibility?”

 

“Hawke, Varric and Isabela can look after themselves,” Fenris grunted out. “You should know best that Hawke is not someone who is easily killed. Varric and Isabela? They can vanish into thin air whenever they please. Varric has connections. They will be safe. Certainly more safe than you would have been, had you stayed in Kirkwall.”

 

“You don’t know that!” Anders exclaimed, freeing his hand from Fenris’ hold to gesture angrily. “Whether or not I actually _did_ anything, it won’t stop Sebastian from doing something really stupid, Fenris! If Garrett has to pay for this, I just…” He faltered. “I just want them to be safe.”

 

“And Hawke wants _you_ safe, Anders.” Fenris reached out, taking both of the mage’s hands into his and holding them tight. “It was a group decision. There was never a second of doubt that you had to get away before Sebastian can get to you. Hawke knows what he’s doing and he has friends at his side that will keep him safe, no matter what.”

 

“Don’t fights!”

 

Anders and Fenris blinked at each other before turning their gazes to an upset Lianni. Her bright green eyes stared at them angrily.

 

“Don’t fights!” she said again, calmer this time, even as tiny hands balled into fists.

 

“We’re not fighting,” Anders said quietly and pulled his hands free once again. Fenris let him, smiling when the mage knelt on the ground and held out one hand toward the child. “Alright? Fenris and I are not fighting. I just got upset and…Fenris had to calm me down.”

 

“But you were shoutings,” Lianni murmured as she slowly approached Anders. The mage offered her an encouraging smile and gently took her by the arm to pull her close.

 

“Sometimes, people shout, in order for one to calm down the other,” he explained calmly and chuckled at Lianni’s doubtful look. “I know, it’s odd. But often, it’s the only thing that helps.” Anders pulled her closer until she was resting her head against his shoulder, both her hands wrapping around one of Anders’ and holding on tight. “I am sorry we worried you.”

  
“Why are yous upsets?” Lianni asked quietly. “I thoughts we lefts Kirkwall so you don’t gets upsets?”

 

Fenris chuckled. “She does have a point, mage,” he said fondly, gaze resting on the blond and the little girl leaning against him. Anders squinted at his lover; there was that look in his eyes again, one he had noticed before and didn’t know what to make of. Eventually, a slight blush crept into his cheeks and he cleared his throat.

 

“I promise not to get upset again,” he murmured as he slowly pulled away from Lianni.

 

“Mage.”

 

Anders froze and glanced up at Fenris.

 

“Another moment,” the elf said. Lianni pressed closer again and clung to his cloak instead of his hand. Anders made a face at Fenris, but all he got in response was an amused smile.

 

“It is likely she will stay with us for quite some time, if not for the rest of our lives, Anders,” Fenris said quietly. “I do know she makes you uncomfortable but…you should try.”

 

“Really? Am I that pathetic by now, that the broody, snarky elf is offering suggestions on how to form relationships?” Anders teased.

 

“Ah, you do not give yourself enough credit, amatus,” Fenris answered around a chuckle. “If that is the case indeed, it only means you have taught me well.”

 

“You do realize that’s a cheap shot, right?”

 

“Another thing I must have learned from you.”

 

Anders gave an amused huff, not fighting the brilliant smile that threatened to split his face apart. Lianni giggled against his shoulder and once again, Fenris pondered the mystery that was their connection. Just like back at the Hanged Man, Anders’ joy or amusement caused the same in Lianni. And only a moment ago, she had been in distress, as much as the mage had been.

 

It was something Fenris would keep an eye on.

 

“We should get going again,” Anders suggested. “It’ll get dark soon.” He wrapped his arms around Lianni and lifted her up. He gave her slightly matted hair a disapproving glance. “Someone’s in need of a bath.”

 

Lianni made an unhappy face. “Do I smells?” she asked and when she looked up, her scandalized expression sent Anders laughing. It was so familiar, he thought as he glanced at Fenris with a fond smile. The smile widened when Fenris scowled in return.

 

 

Sunset came two hours later. By now, Fenris was able to hear the sound of waves in the far distance. The hard ground slowly gave way to a more sandy terrain and the woods were thinning out. It was almost calming, seeing the sky again, colored in oranges, pinks and violets.

 

“This area is far too open to find a safe spot in,” Fenris remarked.

 

“Did you know that sometimes, it’s easier to hide in plain sight?” Anders asked with a smile.

 

“I see how it worked out for you, the first sixth times.”

 

The mage snorted in amusement and even Fenris couldn’t help but chuckle as they shared a look.

 

“The air smells weirds,” Lianni said. She was still partially wrapped around Anders, as if she was afraid the mage would let go if she didn’t hold on strong enough.

 

“That’s the sea,” Anders said. “It smells of salt and…fish.”

 

Fenris made a disgusted sound.

 

“What’s fishs?” Lianni asked.

 

“Something Fenris doesn’t like,” the elf deadpanned. “It’s disgusting.”

 

“Not if it’s prepared right,” Anders stated with a nod.

 

“Your Maker forgive me, mage, but if you ever even _consider_ serving me fish…”

 

Anders chuckled. “I am a healer. I do not make it a habit to feed someone something they are allergic to.”

 

Fenris’ nose wrinkled. “Allergic?”

 

“Why do you think you got so terribly sick after Hawke made you eat it?”

 

“You never mentioned it was an allergy.” The elf squinted at Anders. “I seem to remember you being rather delighted about my feeling ill.”

 

“That’s because you were an asshole to me that day, and I felt like karma was smiling at me when you wouldn’t stop puking.”

 

Lianni frowned. “What’s asshole?”

 

“A word you will forget you heard,” Anders and Fenris said at the same time. Lianni blinked and giggled at them both.

 

At least, until Fenris covered her mouth with one hand. “Hush.”

 

“What?” Anders asked quietly.

 

“I hear voices,” Fenris said. Amber eyes widened and glanced around quickly while Fenris inhaled deepy. “I smell burning wood.”

 

“Can you hear what they are saying?” Anders asked.

 

“It is but a murmur in the distance.” Slowly, Fenris withdrew his hand from Lianni’s mouth and slid off his bag pack so he could reach for the sword. His fingertips barely touched the hilt when Fenris paused, ears twitching nervously.

 

“I…hear children,” he murmured, amazed.

 

“Children?”

 

A loud crack had both men spin around, Fenris unsheathing the sword quickly. The sharp end of the blade met with another and Fenris froze in surprise before taking in the sight of the three men who had just managed to surprise them. Next to him, Anders was wrapping his arms protectively around Lianni.

 

“And just who would you be?” the human with the sword asked.


	22. TWENTY-TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Tevene at the bottom.

Anders’ final count was seventeen. Seventeen men, women and children, who eyed them warily as they were led into the camp. Anders carefully set Lianni down, after telling her to stay by his side, and offered the strangers a tentative smile.

 

“Who are they?” one of the women asked grumpily. She was currently stirring something in a pot over a camp fire. Anders had no idea what it was, but it smelled good.

  
Admittingly, anything other than stale bread and dried meat smelled good right now.

 

“Fugitives,” Roan replied easily as he put down his sword and gave a tired sigh. Roan, the leader of the three men that had caught them only half an hour away from the camp; Roan, the man Anders had somehow convinced to not engage in a fight with the elf and explained that they had escaped the Free Marches after the destruction of Kirkwall and were only looking for a safe spot to sleep for a few hours, and they’d be gone before sunrise.

 

It wasn’t too far from the truth, was it?

 

The two men accompanying Roan – Dwynn and Lucas – turned out to be archers. They were carrying five fat rabbits as Anders, Fenris and Lianni followed them into their camp, after Roan, though reluctant, had decided to believe Anders’ pleading words. Not knowing whether or not they were known among the refugees and possibly recognized, Fenris had pulled his hood further into his face to try and hide the lyrium markings on his chin.

 

Lianni had done what she did best – asking Roan a bunch of questions, until the tall man had warmed up and actually laughed at her curiosity. Anders didn’t know how, but Lianni seemed to sense that it was best not to call Anders or Fenris by their names or reveal anything about who they were and where they came from.

 

“What, our group is not big enough yet?” the woman grunted. “We are already attracting enough attention as it is.”

 

“We’ll be gone by morning,” Anders promised gently. “We do not mean to impose, but sleeping for a few hours in the safe company of others would really help.”

 

She dropped the spoon and stomped over to the mage. Leaning in close, she mustered his features for a moment. Anders kept perfectly still and gave her what he hoped were his most perfect puppy eyes. She huffed at him, then gave Fenris the same treatment. Hood or not, his features and pointed ears could not be completely hidden beneath the hood and Fenris watched her make a face.

  
“An _elf_?” she asked dubiously. “Who are you, some noble who can’t even flee without having a servant with him?”

 

Fenris inhaled sharply at the words.

 

“He’s my lover,” Anders told her coldly.

 

Emerald green eyes blinked at him in disbelief and the sneer on the woman’s face, surprisingly enough, disappeared. She turned her attention to Lianni instead, who gazed up curiously. The woman frowned as she took in Lianni’s sight, then glanced at Anders as if she was seeking confirmation for something.

 

“Name’s Lori,” she eventually introduced herself. “Your daughter needs a bath.”

 

“Is that whats I dids with Auntie Mer?” Lianni asked. Anders, for once too tired to argue about Lianni’s relation to him, just smiled tiredly and nodded.

 

“Yes. You know, wash up, clean that mess your hair is by now.”

 

Lianni brightened up. “I like baths!”

 

Lori gave an amused snort. “Well, she can accompany my sister Mia and the other children. There’s a stream nearby where she can get cleaned up.”

 

“Thank you,” Anders said sincerely. Next to him, Fenris finally seemed to relax, although he had a puzzled expression on his face still. “That would be appreciated.” Again, he smiled at Lianni. “Will you go with the nice woman’s sister and get cleaned up?”

 

Lianni nodded eagerly and smiled.

 

“Alright then,” Lori said. “Find yourself a spot for the night. We take turns keeping watch, but neither of you looks fit to keep watch.”

 

“Give me an hour or two of sleep and I’ll be fit enough,” Fenris murmured, finally speaking up for the first time.

 

Lori just rolled her eyes before nodding at Lianni to follow her.

 

“Do you think it is wise, leaving her in the care of strangers?” Fenris whispered once he was sure Lori couldn’t hear him.

 

“They trusted us enough to bring us here,” Anders replied in kind. “And let’s remember, this child somehow survived in the Deep Roads before _and_ after you found her. I don’t think she’s ever unprotected.”

 

Anders and Fenris watched Lori speak to a younger woman – assumedly her sister, Mia, a redhead with a lot of freckles and a warm smile – and tell Lianni to go with her before returning to the pot over the fire.

 

Roan, having returned to their side, gave a throaty chuckle.

 

“Don’t mind her,” he told the two of them. “She is rather over-protective.”

 

“It stands to reason, given the circumstances,” Fenris said reassuringly. “We had not anticipated meeting other fugitives, after so many days of traveling alone and not coming across a single soul.”

 

“Get some rest,” Roan told Fenris. “And do not make me regret taking you here, fellows.”

 

The camp was rather well organized, Anders thought, as they walked over to a nearby group of trees that Fenris picked as the best place to put down their bedrolls. The camp fire in the middle, several bedrolls spread around it in a circle. Within viewing distance, men were guarding the camp while the women prepared the dinner or tended to the children. Three children, Anders had counted, two boys and one girl who was barely out of her diapers.

 

One of the women seemed withdrawn, huddled against a rock and obviously avoiding looking at the children as they wandered off with Mia to the nearby stream.

 

“I think she lost her child,” Anders murmured as he relieved Fenris of his back pack, allowing  the elf to relax his sore muscles. “The woman over there.” He gave a small nod into her direction.

 

“We should not meddle in their affairs,” Fenris said quietly. “It’s only for tonight.”

 

“It seems they have been here for a few days at least.”

 

Fenris sighed and offered Anders a tired smile. “You are no longer a healer. Not at the moment, at least,” he told the mage. “And no one can heal the loss of a child.”

 

Anders pouted at his lover, then went to work on their bedrolls. For once, Fenris did not hasten to help, but slumped against one of the trees before slowly letting himself sink to the ground. He hadn’t even realized how truly tired he was until now.

 

“You…surprised me,” he let Anders know while the second bedroll was put out.

  
“By doing what?” Anders asked quietly.

 

“Telling her…about us.”

 

The mage gave an amused huff and glanced at Fenris. “She looked decidedly less disgusted upon being informed I prefer sleeping with you over being your master.”

 

Fenris snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

 

“We are equals and I will inform anyone about it, should they think otherwise,” Anders said sternly as he worked. “I am not ashamed of you or what we have, Fenris. I don’t care if some humans see elves as lesser beings, I will never lie about the nature of our relationship.” He sat back on his heels, regarding the bedroll and nodded to himself. “Get some sleep, Fenris,” he told the elf gently. “Maker knows you need it. You can barely keep your eyes open anymore, love.”

 

It was true, his eyelids felt rather heavy as his body gave in to exhaustion, but Fenris still smiled warmly at the blond’s words.  “Te amo plurimum,” Fenris murmured. “Significat multum.”

 

Anders smiled gently at the words. “Quid facit?” he asked.

  
“Omnia quae locuti estis.”

 

Anders slowly crawled over to Fenris slumped form, still smiling as he leaned in to kiss the elf. He didn’t care if they could be seen and, surprisingly, neither did Fenris, who was usually more private about these things. His response was tired, but sincere and he chuckled when Anders ended the kiss noisily.

 

“Never thank me for telling the truth, Fenris,” Anders told him. “I love you. Now…for the _love_ of the Maker, get some sleep?”

 

Fenris moved slowly toward the bedroll prepared for him, not even bothering to take off his cloak or even his boots – only the sword, which Anders hid beneath his bedroll for now. Slumping down heavily, Fenris gave a contented sigh when his head came to rest on soft fabrics.

 

“Will you be alright?” he murmured as his eyes fell closed.

 

“Sleep,” Anders replied simply and ran a hand over the back of the elf’s head.

 

 

Once Anders was sure Fenris was fast asleep, he joined Roan by the fire, where Lori had started filling bowls for everyone. Roan offered him a tired smile and patted the spot to his right. Anders smiled gratefully in response and sat; Lori handed him one bowl and glanced questioningly at Fenris.

 

“He’s asleep. I’ll make sure he gets something to eat later,” Anders told her while trying the makeshift stew Lori had prepared. It certainly wasn’t the best, but the mage was still impressed what she had managed to cook up with what little supplies they had.

 

“The rabbits will take a while,” she told him before walking off to serve stew to the men keeping guard.

 

Roan waited until Lori was out of earshot. Anders could see the bear-like man, who reminded him of Garrett a little, had a few questions about them.

 

“How long have you been here?” Anders asked before Roan could speak.

 

“Three days. It seemed like a good place to rest and catch our breaths. Decide where to go. We can’t remain in the wilds for the rest of our lives, after all,” Roan explained.

 

“You’re Free Marchers. I would have expected you’d rather head for Wildervale or Starkhaven instead of traveling away from the Free Marches.”

 

“The same could be said about you and your friend,” Roan pointed out with a smirk. “He seems rather good with a sword.”

 

“He’s a warrior,” Anders agreed with a nod. “And not one I’d suggest facing in battle. He is…rather skilled and possesses some unique talents.”

 

“Is he Dalish? He doesn’t look Dalish.”

 

“No.”

 

Roan chuckled. “I offered you the safety of our camp, a place to sleep and a warm meal. There’s no need to be so defensive, pup. The least you can do is tell me your names.”

 

Anders sighed. “You should consider that maybe, we prefer not to, for your safety and that of your companions?”

 

Roan’s eyes narrowed at him and Anders kept his face as impassive as he could under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. It was surprisingly quiet around them, except for the crackling of the fire. Anders cast a glance around, taking in the sight of tired people that enjoyed their meager dinner in silence. Many were exhausted; some wore bandages that had been applied in a dilletantish manner. One of the guards had a rather nasty cough that Anders figured would rather attract unwanted attention than avoid it. He could feel Compassion in the far back of his mind, wanting to reach out. Anders balled his hands into fist and told it _not now, not here_.

 

“I had a boy, ten years old,” Roan suddenly spoke up again. “He was suffering from a rather nasty fever, shortly after the last Blight. My wife and I were afraid he might have caught the blight sickness, despite Kirkwall not having suffered too many Darkspawn attacks.”

  
“I’m sorry to hear.”

 

“No healer agreed to see him. We knocked on every healer’s door in Kirkwall and they all sent us away, even the Chanty. Eventually, we went to Darktown. We had heard rumors about a healer from Ferelden, who supposedly cured even the deadliest of illnesses.”

 

“I heard the same rumor,” Anders said with a smile. “I never got to meet him in person, unfortunately. Was he able to help your son?”

 

Roan nodded. “He was. Brandon would have gotten married next summer. He met this beautiful girl on Lowtown’s market. They were happy.”

 

Amber eyes turned their compassionate gaze on Roan. “He…you are speaking in past tense. Is he…?”

 

“He died, trying to find her when Kirkwall went to the Void. I was only able to find his dead body.”

 

Anders bit his lip and looked away. “My condolences. What about your wife?”

 

“Lori,” Roan said with a chuckle. “You must apologize her gruff tone. She is mourning. He was our only son.”

 

“Again, I am sorry, Roan. I can’t imagine what it’s like, losing a family member.”

 

The man hummed in agreement. “So, you have been to Kirkwall as well, if you have heard about this healer?”

 

“Only briefly. But it seems my lover and I arrived at the worst time.” Anders gave a humorless smile. Keeping up the façade was tiring him out slowly.

 

“A man and an elf,” Roan mused. “You’re not a magister from Tevinter, are you?”

 

“Maker, no.” The mage shook his head. “No. Just traveling. I wanted to see all of Thedas. He and I, we met on the road.”

 

“And your child?”

 

Anders bit his lip. “It’s…complicated?”

 

~*~

 

“You’re smalls, too.”

 

Lianni stared at the boy sitting in front of her while her hair was being washed by Mia.

  
“Not small!” the boy protested. “Mother says I have grown a lot! I’ll be a man soon!”

 

“Don’t get angry, Liam,” Mia chided gently. “She has never been around other children before, have you, Lianni?”

 

Lianni shook her head and watched Liam scowl at her.

 

“I take it you and your father have travelled a lot, then? Never stayed long enough in one place to form friendships?” Mia carefully rinsed Lianni’s hair and almost cooed in delight at the golden color.

 

“What’s fathers?” Lianni tilted her head back enough to glance at Mia curiously.

 

Mia blinked, strands of red hair falling into her forehead as she leaned forward to look at the little girl. “How do you not know what a father is?”

 

“Everyone has a father,” Liam said and nodded importantly.

 

“Maybe you call him differently?” Mia mused. “Papa? Dada? Daddy?”

 

Lianni pouted and shook her head. Mia hummed thoughtfully and smoothed back Lianni’s wet, now clean hair. “What about your mother?”

 

Again, Lianni shook her head.

 

“She’s dumb,” Liam announced grumpily.

  
“Liam!” Mia gasped. “You don’t say something like that! It’s very mean.” She threw a washcloth at him. “Go help your brother clean up and think about what I just told you.”

 

Liam made a face at Lianni, but did grab the washcloth and inched away. Lianni watched him move toward the other child that accompanied them. He was a little taller than Liam and herself.

 

“So, you know, in order for a child to be born, it needs a mother and a father,” Mia explained patiently while she reached for a comb to sort Lianni’s hair with. It was obviously old and missing two teeth, but it did the job. “A girl and a boy, you see?”

 

“No girl,” Lianni said quietly as she mulled over the new information.

 

“Ah, but a boy, yes? The tall blond boy you travel with? Lori said you have the same facial features and hair color. Since you look similar, I guess he is your father.” Mia smiled. “Maybe you just never learned the term yet. What do you call him, usually?”

 

“By names?”

 

“Oh, sweet Maker.” Mia laughed gently as she combed. “I should have a stern talk to him.”

  
“Whys?”

 

“Because little girls should always call their fathers ‘father’ or ‘papa’. Children don’t usually call their fathers by their name, you know?”

 

“I likes papa,” Lianni decided with a nod and a smile. “What do papas do?”

 

“They love and protect their little ones.” Mia put the comb away and threaded her fingers through blond strands. Pleased with the result, she nodded. “They teach you important things as you grow up. They will read or tell you bedtime stories until you fall asleep. They make you gifts, some even make their children toys.”

 

Lianni looked truly lost at those words and Mia sighed, offering the child an encouraging smile. “Maybe I got this all wrong. Whoever he is and whatever his relationship to you, at least he kept you safe until now, right?”

 

The little girl smiled and nodded and Mia laughed and playfully touched the tip of her finger to one of Lianni’s pointed ears. “You are adorable!” she exclaimed. “Your mother must be an elf? Although, I have never met a half-elf yet who had _such_ pointy ears.”

 

Curiously, Lianni reached up and fumbled her ears.

“Now, time to find you something to eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Te amo plurimum – I love you very much  
> Significat multum – It means a lot  
> Quid facit? – What does?  
> Omnia quae locutis estis – Everything you said


	23. TWENTY-THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW...  
> Exploring Hawke and Zevran a little more, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicating this chapter to Feya ;)

An amused smile slowly spread on Hawke’s lips when he noticed that Zevran did not even try to sneak up on him. He could hear the elf’s footsteps as they approached, accompanied by a softly hummed tune.

 

It was a little past midnight, but Hawke knew better than to chide the Antivan. He had, after all, kept his promise and if the sprinkles of blood drying on the elf’s cloak were any indication, he had also been…successful, in the task he’d taken upon himself. As Zevran approached the bed Hawke had lay down on, dressed down to a pair of comfortable pants he’d managed to find, a book from the Circle’s library keeping him entertained while sleep refused to come, the warrior debated with himself whether or not he should ask Zevran about whom he’d found to pose as Anders’ ‘corpse’. Had it been a quick, merciful death? Or maybe Zevran had made use of a dead body instead and the blood had its origin elsewhere?

 

“I see the Gallows are still standing,” Zevran greeted with a chuckle as he worked on taking off his cloak. It slid to the floor carelessly and the same slender hands worked on the armor covering the lithe body. The armor had obviously been designed just for Zevran, seeing how well it fit, dark-brown leather and golden embroidery, matching boots and gloves. Well, the gloves were missing today.

 

There was more dried blood on the chest piece, Hawke noticed, before it came off along with the rest of the armor. By the time he reached the foot of the bed, Zevran wore nothing but his smalls and a thin shirt that protected his skin from the rough scratch of leather. It looked silvery in the dim light the fireplace and a handful lit candles spent the bedroom. Hawke had refused to vacate Meredith’s former private quarters. He wasn’t sure whom this room originally belonged to, but it fulfilled his need of a comfortable place to sleep in until dawn.

 

Zevran climbed on the bed and Hawke closed the book and put it away, arms spreading invitingly. Within seconds, he had his lap full of warm, seductive elf, his big hands running over Zevran’s back. The shirt was made of silk, smooth and soft beneath Hawke’s calloused hands.

 

“Varric found Lirene. She was a great help,” Hawke explained. “She managed the whole affair along with two friends of hers. I am sure Anders will be pleased to learn they are still alive.” At Zevran’s questioning look, he added: “Remember the day we met? You found us in Anders’ clinic.”

 

“You are speaking of the woman seeing to Fenris’ head wound,” Zevran said with a nod. “Were they good friends, Anders and her?”

 

“She made sure he was safe and supplied him with what she could get her hands on. Occasionally, she even helped out at the clinic, when she wasn’t too busy running her own store.”

 

The Antivan settled comfortably and Hawke allowed himself a moment to enjoy feeling the slender man’s weight on his body and Zevran’s warm skin.

 

“I am afraid to ask,” Hawke admitted with a chuckle.

 

“Then do not,” Zevran replied easily. “Sometimes, a regent must do what is necessary, but that doesn’t mean it is wise to tell him every single detail. The less you know, the better.”

 

“Is that what you did for Alistair, too, after he was crowned?”

 

A toothy grin, white teeth gleaming. “There was thankfully not too much killing to be done. Ferelden was thankful to have Maric’s heir on the throne, after it was known what treason Loghain committed and his daughter, Cailan’s widow, being a confidant.”

 

“I heard she was mourning.” Hawke frowned. “And she has also been much better at ruling the kingdom than Cailan was, who preferred looking for adventures.”

 

“Indeed, she was mourning. She was not a confidant from the beginning.” Zevran leaned forward and brought his forehead to Hawke’s. “But once she knew, she decided to protect her father and, especially, her claim to the throne. Conned us, too.”

 

“Sounds like a long story I need to hear…just not tonight,” Hawke agreed. “One question, though.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you really need to drink dragon blood in order to gain Reaver abilities?”

 

Zevran chuckled, hands cupping Hawke’s bearded face gently. “Yes, Mael drank dragon blood. He also had someone teach him, though.”

 

Hawke sighed. “I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to be a dragon. I guess this is the closest I could get.”

 

“From what I hear, you have met Flemeth. Her daughter was a companion of ours.”

 

“ _And_ she can turn into a dragon,” Hawke pointed out with a pout. “I always wondered if Merrill or Anders would be able to learn shapeshifting.”

 

A throaty laugh from the Antivan. “I can tell you that Anders once mentioned he wished he were able to learn shapeshifting, because he’d turn into a cat and forever remain in that form. Alas, it seems it is impossible for him. I do not know if your Dalish friend might be able.”

 

“I’d just be jealous of her. I should not even suggest it.” Anoter playful pout and Zevran chuckled, hands coming up to bury in Hawke’s mussed-up hair.

 

“So, you wish to be a dragon?” Zevran murmured as he leaned forward to bestow a chaste kiss to Hawke’s pouting lips. “I may have an idea. If you can stand a little bit of pain, yes?”

 

Hawke snorted. “I was speared by the Arishok? That was a whole lot of pain, Zev. I am sure I can handle whatever you have on your mind.”

 

Zevran’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you survive?”

 

They looked at each other for a moment, then both broke into a chuckle and simultaneously said: “Anders.”

 

“I’m afraid our chances of survival sank dramatically, with our healer gone,” Hawke admitted, still chuckling.

 

“Worry not, my dear Garrett,” Zevran murmured. “I will keep you safe.” Another chaste kiss to Hawke’s lips and the elf pulled back. “Now…even though you have assured me that you can take a great deal of pain, I have an idea that will make pain a…pleasurable experience, for once, yes?”

 

“Pain can be pleasurable?” Hawke’s eyebrows shot up.

 

Zevran merely smirked and pulled off his silk shirt, back arching and muscles rippling beneath soft skin, completely distracting Hawke from the elf’s words. He immediately reached out to caress the sun-kissed skin and the Antivan hummed approvingly. Clever hands reached for the waistband of Hawke’s pants and tugged; it took some shifting and a rather uncomfortable lifting of hips until Zevran managed to pull them down to the other man’s thighs.

 

“You are not planning something painful for my neither regions, I hope?” Hawke quipped.

 

The blond elf laughed and made short work of his smalls before straddling Hawke’s lap. “I only ever have wicked and most certainly _satisfying_ plans for your neither regions, Garrett…do not worry, yes?”

 

Hawke snorted and allowed Zevran to push him down, their bodies sliding together, his skin heating beneath Zevran’s questioning fingers and talented mouth.

 

 

The early morning hours found Hawke sprawled on his front, his body still buzzing from adrenaline and a rather powerful orgasm. Each sting of needles pushed beneath his skin fueled the buzz and occasionally, a sigh or moan would escape Hawke’s lips. His heated skin felt like it was on fire where Zevran worked on his left upper arm and shoulder, fully concentrating on the task. How they managed to stay awake and alert after the long day they had and the amazing sex, Hawke didn’t know.

 

“Where did you learn to do this?” he murmured.

 

“Antiva,” Zevran replied with a smile. “I loved the artistic side of tattooing and the sweet, redemptive pain it gives me. I had the one doing mine teach me and discovered I have a talent for this kind of work, yes?”

 

Hawke returned the smile and craned his neck to risk a glance at the outlines of a dragon currently in the process of being embedded into his skin. Zevran was indeed talented and Hawke was sure that once this tattoo was done, it would look amazing. Something to wear with pride for the rest of his life.

 

“Thank you for this,” he told the elf. “It’s a wonderful idea and it…means a lot to me.”

 

A chuckle. “Thank me when this is done, mi amor.”

 

Hawke’s mouth quirked into a playful smirk. “Are you even aware you are calling me that, Zev?”

 

Zevran frowned and his hand stilled. Slowly, honey-brown eyes lifted their gaze to meet Hawke’s. The warrior just smiled encouragingly and lifted his free hand to caress over Zevran’s cheek, a fingertip tracing the tattoo decorating the side of the elf’s face.

 

“I like it,” Hawke assured before Zevran was even able to answer. The Antivan’s frown deepened and he returned to his task. Even in the semi dark of the room, Hawke could see the faint blush on the elf’s cheek and bit back an amused chuckle. “Why did you really stay?” he asked instead.

 

“I am not sure what you mean?”

 

“When Mael stated he will return to Ferelden soon, he did not mention to have you stay behind. Anders and Fenris are quite capable to look after themselves, so there was no need to see them off.” Hawke gave one-shouldered shrug. “I know you made sure Mael will be informed of their safe departure right after we saw them off the other night, and yet you are still here. So…what’s the real reason for you staying in Kirkwall? Certainly not the city’s charm.”

 

Zevran hummed in agreement and shifted a little to continue his work on another part. “Does it matter?” he asked quietly and Hawke couldn’t keep in the slightly annoyed sigh that made Zevran pause once again. His pointed ears dropped slightly, like a child that was being scolded.

 

“I do get that you…need time to open up to someone,” Hawke said, hoping to sound diplomatic, “but I don’t see how this is going to work out if you avoid about every personal question I ask.”

 

Zevran offered an amused huff. “And I find I agree,” he admitted. “Do you remember our talk at the Dalish Camp, the night before we returned to Kirkwall?”

 

“I do.”

 

“This is why I stayed.”

 

Hawke’s brows furrowed. “Because I was talking about being a farmer?”

 

“I enjoyed your more peaceful vision of life in regards to what reality is currently offering you. You still have hope for something _better_ than what you currently call your life and I admire that.” Zevran dipped the needle into ink and returned it to Hawke’s skin. “Many have lost hope after the Fifth Blight, yes? They lost their homes, sometimes most of, if not their entire family. Many good men died at Ostagar and many more in Denerim before the Grey Wardens managed to slay the archdemon. Even Mael seems to have lost hope for a life by the side of the man he loves. All he sees are duties, dangers and most of the past years have been spent traveling across Thedas. He never seems to find a moment to truly rest and I believe it is less the duties he has to see to, but because he doesn’t allow himself.”

 

Hawke winced when the needle pierced his skin and Zevran continued to work.

  
“It makes me sad, because he was different when we met. I do not remember the last time I have seen him truly smile or even laugh. Relax, yes? Get drunk with his fellow Wardens, entering drinking contests with Oghren. Just take off his Warden armor and curl up in bed, at the Royal Palace in Denerim, sleep for a few days and let Alistair take care of him. He is the most peaceful when Alistair is around and he is equally running from it and craving it.” Zevran sighed and moved to work on the dragon’s right wing. “But you are different. I never had much to look forward to. I promised him my life and my loyalty when we met and he did not disappoint. Mael is a true friend. But I did start wishing for more. For something different, yes? And hearing you speak of a life far away from all this destruction, death and betrayal…”

 

“It will still be some time until we find the chance to make it reality,” Hawke warned gently. “I hate leaving matters undone. I can’t leave Kirkwall and search for something better until I am done here.”

 

“I do not expect you to,” Zevran said with a grin and a wink. “It is, indeed, another trait of yours that I do admire, yes?” A final sharp jab of the needle and Zevran put it away before reaching for a cloth to gently clean blood and spilled ink off Hawke’s arm. “Enough for tonight. You need your arm, in case the Starkhaven prince puts up a fight,” he decided.

 

Now finally able to take a proper look, Hawke twisted his arm and eyed the tattoo curiously. It was only the outlines yet, the ones Zevran had drawn onto his skin prior, but he already loved it.

 

“Now you are indeed a dragon, mi amor,” the Antivan said, still grinning. “One I intend to keep alive until it is time to spread your wings and take us far away from here.” He leaned in and kissed Hawke’s shoulder, right above slightly reddened, freshly inked skin. “And yes, I _am_ aware I keep calling you that.”

 

“And I still like it,” Hawke said before growling playfully and pouncing on Zevran.

 

 

~*~

 

It was the harsh knock against the bedroom’s door that woke the pair from their light slumber at the crack of dawn. Zevran was out of the bed in one fluent movement and reached for his daggers before Hawke even had the chance to blink, his own hand instinctively reaching for his sword that he’d leaned against the bedside table when he’d gotten comfortable last night.

 

“Hawke!” Varric bellowed through the closed door. “I hate to interrupt your coital bliss but it’s time to get ready.”

 

Hawke sighed heavily while Zevran slowly relaxed his stance next to him. “I guess they have arrived.”

 

Zevran grabbed the covers and pulled them off Hawke’s body. The warrior shivered and scowled at the elf, who simply wrapped himself up in them before making his way to the door. Varric didn’t look surprised in the slightest when the elf opened for him, but Hawke didn’t miss the slightly amused grin on the dwarf’s lips.

  
“Rise and shine,” he greeted. “Trouble at the horizon.”

 

“How many?” Hawke called while hastily pulling his pants on.

 

“First report says at least five dozen men, but I do expect more. They have probably split up and approach Kirkwall from all sides. Sebastian is leading them.”

 

“Maker be damned,” Hawke cursed as he fumbled with the breastplate of his armor. “How many Templars?”

 

“Surprisingly, less than I had originally suspected. But again, there might be more coming for Kirkwall. I sent an informant to go fetch Isabela. If all fails, she knows how to get Chantry boy all flustered and forget his own name.”

 

“One of Isabela’s most redeeming qualities, certainly,” Zevran agreed with a chuckle. “Did Cullen send out men to meet up with the Starkhaven brat halfway?”

 

Varric shook his head. “He has, instead, ordered them to stay in the Keep. Even he isn’t completely trusting this. Either that or he’s afraid of Hawke.”

 

Hawke snorted and finished dressing, then grabbed his sword. “We shall make sure Sebastian receives the welcome he deserves, as someone of his rank and title.”

 

“Is everything ready?” Zevran asked the dwarf.

 

“The body has mostly burned to ashes by now. I doubt he’ll notice any differences. I broke Anders’ staff in half and sacrificed it to the flames as well.”

 

“Sweet Maker,” Hawke moaned. “Was that necessary, Varric?”

 

Varric shrugged. “Anders has no need of it anymore and he did leave it behind for that purpose, Hawke.”

 

Of course the dwarf was right – Hawke _knew_ he was right and he also knew Anders was aware he might never see his staff again. A staff that had served him well throughout the years of being with the Wardens and fighting by Hawke’s side. The rebellious appearance of the blond’s staff had suited Anders. Something that was uniquely _him_. Now it was destroyed, burning to ashes next to the corpse of a man innocent in all this, dressed in Anders’ feather coat, and to Hawke, it felt like they had indeed killed Anders, after all.

 

The thought made him sick.

 

Varric noticed Hawke pale and offered a gentle smile. “I am sure Sebastian will understand if you do not want to see your former friend’s corpse, should he ask to see it.”

  
“Don’t… _say_ that, Varric,” Hawke forced out.

 

“Always remember it’s not him.”

 

“Just don’t.”

 

Hawke pushed past Zevran and Varric and made his way down the long corridor, desperately needing some fresh air. Varric offered Zevran a shrug.

 

“Follow him,” Zevran suggested. “I shall find out just how much trouble awaits us, yes?”

 

“This is Kirkwall,” Varric remarked dryly. “It’s _always_ a whole _lot_ of trouble, my friend.”

 


	24. TWENTY-FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter filled with lots of Fenders, fluff, scares and one sad child. Consider yourself warned.

Fenris jolted awake and sat up so fast, his head spun in protest. Bright sunlight and a pale blue sky greeted his bleary eyes as he tried to orient himself. Blurry figures were surrounding him and his first instinct was to check his wrists and ankles for shackles, relieved to find none.

 

Next, he became aware of the empty bedroll next to his that looked like it hadn’t been used ever since it was put out. Anders’ back pack rested against the trunk of the tree and a sudden panic seized Fenris when he looked around hastily but found no trace of his mage – or Lianni.

 

Cursing under his breath, Fenris got on all four and reached for the back pack. Not finding his pouch filled with coins where it was supposed to be woke him up fully, pulse racing. His brands flared up for a moment, but before Fenris spun around and charged at the strangers around him, he finally remembered where he was.

 

The small camp was busy, with the exception of some men currently sleeping after having kept watch for the greater part of the night. The sun stood high and Fenris figured it had to be almost noon. He’d slept half the day away without waking once.

 

And Anders was nowhere to be found.

 

With a grunt, Fenris got to his feet, wrapping the cloak tightly around himself and stalked off to find a familiar face. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him, taking in his sight now that the darkness didn’t offer its safety. As he walked, Fenris glanced at his feet and the lyrium lines glowing faintly and again, spit out a curse in Tevene.

 

“Good morning,” a familiar voice greeted Fenris and the elf stopped and glanced back over his shoulder to find Raon grinning at him. “It would seem you were rather exhausted. Nothing would wake you up.”

 

“Where is the m—my companion?” Fenris snarled.

  
“Easy, boy,” Roan admonished. “He took off about two hours ago, saying he needs to look for some herbs.”

 

Fenris sighed inwardly and relaxed his stance. Of course. He should have seen this coming after Anders’ slightly tortured look in the face of some many either injured or ill. _Fool mage_ , he thought and lips quirked up. Compassion would indeed forever remain Anders’ one great weakness.

 

“The child?” Fenris asked, softly.

  
“He took her with him.” Roan lifted a hand and pointed toward the woods they had emerged from just the night before. “He said to tell you not to worry.”

 

“Of course he did,” Fenris huffed and Roan smiled in amusement.

 

“I hope the three of you do realize that the people here have questions,” the tall man warned.

 

“I am not sure we have answers,” the elf replied. “We will be gone as soon as I find him, as promised.” And as soon as Fenris managed to convince Anders that they should not linger.

 

 

Finding Anders and Lianni was alarmingly easy. While Fenris’ ears were certainly sharper than those of humans, it would be easy for anyone close enough to hear Lianni’s giggling, the distant sound of her cheerful voice as she kept asking Anders questions about the plants she saw. For someone trained to attack – and kill – from the distant, a well-trained archer like Sebastian, they were easy targets. With an annoyed growl, Fenris hurried through the woods, following the sound of Lianni’s clear, cheerful voice and the low murmer of Anders’, who at least _tried_ to remain as quiet as possible.

 

Cursing under his breath in Tevene, Fenris sped up his steps. Brushing past bushes that rustled as if to complain, he rounded a group of trees, almost tripping over a thick root. He caught sight of a small blond head, spotting Lianni kneeling on the ground to take a closer look at something that had caught her interest. She looked up as Fenris hastily approached, a surprised gasp escaping her lips.

 

Before Fenris got a chance to announce himself, he found himself knocked off his feet and flying backward. He barely felt the pain, numbed from the attack, when he crashed on the ground, flat on his back. Lianni’s voice sounded oddly distant when she cried out for him and Fenris had a hard time concentrating on her or trying to give a reassuring answer. His head was spinning so badly, his stomach turned.

 

Something cool and soothing washed over him and Fenris moaned in relief when his head cleared and what pain he felt was chased away.

 

“Fenris!”

 

A little disoriented still, Fenris blinked, eyes focusing on Anders’ face above his. Amber eyes were wide with horror, the mage’s face white as a bedsheet.

 

“Fasta vass,” Fenris groaned while the Spirit Healer’s hands carefully touched his arms, his chest, before cradling his face. He felt slender fingers tremble against his cheek.

  
“Maker, Fenris, I am so sorry,” Anders gasped out. “I am so, so incredibly sorry!”

 

“Is he hurts?” Lianni piped up from somewhere behind the tall man.

 

“What was that?” Fenris gritted out, leaning into Anders’ touch.

  
“What?” The mage stilled.

 

“What did you just cast at me?” the elf clarified while he slowly sat up.

 

“A…a mind blast?” Anders let go of Fenris’ face and grabbed his shoulders instead, steadying him. “Fenris, I’m so sorry…I didn’t see it was you, I just…”

 

Fenris started to chuckle and Anders’ mouth snapped shut, stunned at the elf’s reaction. His surprise only lasted for a few seconds before his expression became concerned. Grabbing Fenris’ chin, he forced the elf to lift his head, their eyes making contact.

 

“I’m alright,” Fenris laughed while Anders gave him a scrutinizing look.

 

“I just cast a spell at you and you’re laughing. You’re not alright,” Anders answered matter-of-factly. “Did you hit your head? What’s Hawke’s first name? Do you remember where you are? Where we came from?”

 

Fenris grunted and batted at Anders’ hand. “Anders, stop.”

 

The mage obeyed but the concern did not leave his features. “Fenris, I apologize.”

 

“Do not,” Fenris demanded. “You did the right thing.”

 

Amber eyes stared at him in disbelief. “The right thing?”

 

“I hurried here because I could hear the two of you from the distance and had every intention to scold you for being so careless to attract possible Starkhaven spies or worse,” Fenris explained. “You noticed my presence and decided to defend Lianni and yourself first and foremost. You did well, amatus.”

 

Lianni came into view, peeking carefully at the still somewhat shaken elf. “Are you hurts?” she asked with a pout.

 

“I am fine,” Fenris assured. “But I seem to recall that we promised each other to remain close.” He narrowed his eyes at the mage. “Yet I wake up and find you _gone_.”

 

Concern was replaced by guilt and embarrassment. “I apologize,” Anders murmured.

 

“We do not want to get involved with these people,” Fenris told him gently. “We said only for the night. It is day now. We should gather our belongings and leave, as planned.”

 

Anders frowned. “No one’s getting involved, I’m just –“

 

“ - collecting herbs to help the sick and injured,” Fenris finished for him. “That _is_ getting involved, mage. They can take care of themselves.” Anders looked sour but apparently was too tired to argue right now.

 

“Our coin is gone,” Fenris added, lowering his voice. “Someone must have stolen it while I slept and you were gone.”

 

Anders rolled his eyes and pushed his cloak aside, revealing Fenris’ leather purse that held a good amount of his savings, safely tied to the thin belt around the mage’s waist. A small smile appeared on Anders’ lips when the elf’s ears dropped slightly at the sight.

 

“I may have not kept my word, but I’m not an idiot, Fenris.” Anders leaned in to kiss his elf gently, chuckling when Fenris huffed, ears pinking. “As you have said yourself, I’ve been on the run before, more times than I care to count. Obviously, I know to keep an eye on whatever money I got on me.”

 

Another huff. Anders merely smiled and gave Fenris another kiss before bringing their foreheads together.

 

“Tu incolumis?” the mage asked quietly.

 

“I’ve taken worse blows than this,” Fenris pointed out.

 

“Only because I didn’t hit you full force.” A shaky sigh. “I could have killed you, blighted elf.” Fenris smirked in response. “ _Not_ funny, Fenris.”

 

“Looks what I founds!”

 

Something petal and sweet-smelling was pushed into the narrow space between their faces. Fenris’ nose wrinkled and he pulled back, barely avoiding a sneeze. Lianni offered a brilliant smile and followed the movement, bringing the white flower closer to the elf’s face again.

 

“Looks!” she said excitedly. “It’s so pretty! Like your hairs!”

 

“My…hair?” Fenris frowned and reached for the shock of white hair, brushing out dirt and blades of grass, before returning his attention to the little girl in front of him. Anders seized the opportunity to get up and gather the pouch he’d dropped in shock, after realizing he’d just attacked Fenris.

 

Fenris took the flower from Lianni and touched a fingertip to the impossibly soft white petals. Andraste’s Grace. He’d seen it before. Anders used it for potions. The flower was rare in Tevinter, the climate too hot and dry for this delicate plant. Fenris had always thought it was a beautiful flower, petals snow white and the red core reminding him of rubies.

 

“Mael once told me a story about how the kennel master at Ostagar asked him to find Andraste’s Grace in the Kocari Wilds for him,” Anders told Fenris as he returned. “Apparently, he needed it for a mixture to cure a sick mabari from the blight sickness.”

 

Fenris’ eyebrows rose, regarding the flower. “Did it work?”

 

“Yes.” Anders shrugged, smiling.

 

“And did you ever…would it help curing your taint, too?”

 

“I’ve used Andraste’s Grace in quite a few potions by now. Still tainted.” Another shrug. Fenris felt a pang of disappointment.

 

Lianni seemed overjoyed over Fenris’ interest in the flower and scrambled away with a giggle, brushing past Anders and back to the spot Fenris had found her kneeling in earlier.

 

“ _Is_ there a cure?” the elf asked quietly. “Is there any way to ensure you will not receive your Calling?”

 

“None that I know of.”

 

With a sigh, Fenris got up, mindful of the delicate flower in his hand. “We should return to the camp, gather our things and move on,” he decided. “Leave the herbs with Raon. We do not have time to linger, amatus. I wish to see you both safe and sound to Ostwick as fast as possible.”

 

“Raon and his people may get suspicious if we just run off, though,” Anders told him. “They have seen us. If asked about a man and an elf traveling together, they will know Sebastian is looking for us.”

 

“Sebastian will not anticipate that I am accompanying you. When he left Kirkwall, he was under the impression I hate your guts and would rather see you dead than bringing you to safety.”

 

“He will notice you missing, Fenris.”

 

Fenris huffed. “And Hawke or Varric will have a plausible explanation for that ready when needed. Maybe you killed me before they killed you?”

 

Amber eyes widened in horror and Fenris immediately felt bad for saying such things.

  
“Amatus…” he tried gently.

 

“I could have killed you a few minutes ago,” Anders grunted out. “Don’t you ever –“

 

A small hand tugging on his cloak made Anders forget what he’d meant to say and he gazed down curiously.

 

“I needs that!” Lianni said and pointed at his head.

 

“You need…what?” Anders asked, confused. Fenris sighed quietly and relaxed, thankful for the child’s distraction.

 

“Thats!” Lianni stood on her toes and continued to point at the mage’s head. “In your hairs!”

 

“I believe she means your hair tie,” Fenris concluded with a small smile.

 

With a frown, Anders reached for his pony tail, fumbling with the leather band. “What do you need it for?” he asked Lianni.

 

“To makes it stays togethers!” Lianni pursed her lips. “Please?”

 

“I do enjoy it when you wear your hair open,” Fenris added with a smirk.

 

Amber eyes looked at him curiously and Fenris approached the mage slowly, reaching up to grab the tie.

 

“It has grown a lot,” the blond objected.

 

Fenris’ smirk widened. “I know.”

 

“I need to cut it.”

 

One swift tug released soft blond hair from the tie and Anders blinked in surprise. With a chuckle, Fenris leaned down to hand the hair tie to Lianni. “Do not lose it,” he admonished her.

 

“I won’ts!” Lianni promised before dashing off again. Assured that she remained within a safe distance, Fenris returned his attention to a somewhat flustered mage playing with his hair, now openly falling down to his shoulders.

 

Unable to resist, Fenris buried both his hands in golden silk, marveling at the soft texture and the way the pale sunlight reflected in it. “Do not cut it,” he requested.

 

Anders made a face, but Fenris knew his mage well enough by now. The look in those amber eyes told him that the other man enjoyed the compliment and that maybe, he’d indulge Fenris.

  
“I am glad to see you spending time with her, too,” Fenris continued, keeping his voice low, his tone gentle. “Without my presence.”

 

“I only took her with me because I knew you’d get angry if I left her with a bunch of strangers.”

 

Fenris frowned at the mage, who was glancing sideways to find out what Lianni was up to.

 

“Would it not be easier to accept the gift your friend has made you, rather than avoiding it?” he asked. “I know I did not see eye to eye with your spirit in the past, and I’d be a liar if I said I’m not glad he’s gone, but –“

 

“You don’t understand,” Anders cut him off sharply. “And that is alright. You want to see her as a gift, you are free to. I just…I can’t.” He cast a look at his pouch and the herbs he had collected. “Let’s go back then,” he added with fake cheerfulness, pulling away slowly.

 

Fenris sighed loudly. There was a warning in the mage’s eyes, telling him not to start arguing with him, not right now, and Fenris relented. He gave Anders a small nod and watched as the blond walked off, following the path Fenris had taken earlier back to the camp.

 

“Done!” Lianni announced and bounced toward Fenris. She thrust a bunch of flowers at him enthusiastically and Fenris blinked at it. The work was messy, as was to be expected from a child her age and his mind instantly provided that the arrangement of flowers, randomly picked and not matching, was _terrible_. They were loosely held together by Anders’ hair tie and Fenris couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Those are beautiful,” he told Lianni.

 

“Do you thinks Anders will likes them?” she asked, suddenly looking forlorn. Fenris knelt down and hesitantly reached out to pet her hair.

 

“You picked these for Anders?”

 

Lianni nodded. “Mia saids people likes flowers. She always likeds getting thems as gift.”

 

Fenris hummed thoughtfully and looked at the messy bouquet in his other hand. He carefully began adjusting, shortening the peduncles that were too long to match the others, then tied them strongly. Lianni watched with interest and by the time Fenris had finished arranging the flowers more neatly, she was beaming at him.

 

“He will love them,” Fenris assured the little girl. “Anders is sometimes just not very good at showing it, you know?”

 

“Why?”

 

Fenris chuckled and handed the bouquet to Lianni. She carefully wrapped her tiny arms around it, holding the flowers tightly to her chest as they began to follow the mage.

 

“Anders is not used to gifts,” Fenris explained. “What little he gained ever since he broke free, he achieved on his own. He is not used to not having to fight for the things that make him happy. Receiving gifts from someone who cares enough always make him uneasy.” He stroked over Lianni’s tiny head. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t make him happy. He just hasn’t learned how to properly react in such a situation.”

 

“He doesn’t likes me,” Lianni whispered, the words sudden and unexpected. Fenris froze and stared at the little girl, who gazed up at him pleadingly. “Why does he nots likes me?”

 

“He does not…” Fenris frowned. “That is not quite true, Lianni. It is…more complicated like that, I’m afraid.”

 

With a pout, Lianni lowered his gaze to her feet. “The little ones in the camp are liked by the tall ones,” she said quietly. “They have mamas and papas.”

 

“The little ones? You mean the other children?”

 

Lianni nodded. “Their mamas and papas always smiles at thems. Picks them up, plays with thems and tell thems stories to fall asleep.” She glanced back up. “Do I haves a mama ands a papa, Fenris?”

 

Fenris stared at the little girl, unsure how to respond to the question. Lianni seemed to have changed over night, carrying a sudden seriousness, more aware of her surroundings and the things her own life lacked in comparison to others. It was probably not surprising that having other children to interact with now had her confused and uncertain.

 

With a sigh, Fenris leaned down and picked Lianni up. She did not protest, curling in against his chest, mindful of the flower bouquet in his arms. Fenris continued his way slowly. Anders was out of sight by now and the elf wished the mage wouldn’t be in such a hurry.

 

“You are not like the other children, Lianni,” he murmured. “You were not _born_ by a mother, like they have been. You are –“ Fenris paused for a moment. “You are not even human, Lianni.”

 

Pale green eyes looked up curiously.

 

“Do you have any memory of the time before you met me in the Deep Roads?” Fenris asked.

 

“I remember mountains,” Lianni offered. “I remember auntie. She was warm. She kept the dark ones away while I slept.”

 

Compassion, undoubtedly, Fenris thought. He remembered the spirit’s aura well, both from the times where it had healed or saved him. It was a constant presence within Anders, too, easily found if Fenris dared to reach for it through his own connection to the Fade.

 

“I remembers Anders,” the little girl continued. “Auntie said I have to meet him. We mets on the mountains.”

 

“Anders told me he saw you in a dream,” Fenris confirmed with a small smile. “That is how he recognized you.”

 

“He smileds at me.” Lianni’s lips quirked up at the memory, the sight causing warmth to spread inside Fenris’ chest. “Auntie said we haves to watch hims. Anders was warm, too. But thens he was nots anymore. He was colds and sads.” Her face fell. “He hurts. I dids not wants him to hurts.”

 

It was like a puzzle slowly coming together and it both, amazed and pained Fenris. Compassion seemed to be the missing link between all the pieces, had been the entire time, he realized. Compassion had been there when Anders had fought what had become of Justice in the Fade; protecting the mage, keeping him alive. Compassion, who had guarded what resulted from Justice’s destruction, who had guided a little Fade spirit while it grew and developed, before sending it on the path it was meant to walk. Compassion, who had made sure Lianni and Anders made contact in the mage’s dream. Fenris had always been aware that mages chosen by a Fade spirit, like Spirit Healers, maintained a close connection to the world beyond, benefiting from the powers and equally in danger of attracting demons. Anders’ connection to the Fade had been expanded, strengthened after separating from Justice. Would his emotions attract Fade beings more strongly, because of it?

 

“So you came into our world to make him stop hurting,” Fenris concluded, voice gentle.

 

“Auntie saids I cans help,” Lianni agreed. “And _he_ wanteds to speaks with Anders.”

 

“Justice?”

 

Lianni shrugged. “Auntie never saids. But he mades Anders angry.”

 

Fenris hummed thoughtfully. The woods were clearing in front of them and he caught sight of the camp. There was Anders, speaking to Roan and Fenris slowed his steps, now assured that the mage had made it back safely.

 

“I will tell you,” Fenris promised the little girl. “You may not understand everything just yet, and many things are beyond my own knowledge as well, for I am not a mage. But I can tell you how you came to be, Lianni.”

 

The little girl looked at him curiously and Fenris smiled. “You _do_ have a father, Lianni,” he said and watched her features brighten at the words. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Tu incolumis? – You unharmed?


	25. TWENTY-FIVE

He could hear him approach before the doors even swung open. The sound of the Starkhaven Prince’s boots was still familiar, even after not seeing each other in a long while. Boots, much heavier and louder on the tiled floors, accompanied Sebastian Vael’s unhurried steps.

 

Hawke took solace in the fact that Sebastian wasn’t rushing in to see him, even though he knew it didn’t mean Sebastian was keeping a cool head concerning the whole affair. Grand Cleric Elthina, one of the confirmed victims of the Chantry explosion, had been the closest to a mother figure Sebastian had known in years.

 

He would not take this lightly.

 

The closer Sebastian came to Meredith’s office, where Hawke was awaiting him – a setup fitting a regent, according to Zevran – the more tense the warrior became. Tense enough that even Varric took notice and poked his side.

  
“Relax,” Varric murmured. “Sebastian will notice you got something to hide if it’s written on your face, clear as day.”

 

“I’m less worried about Sebastian and more so about his company,” Hawke gritted out. Granted, he was also worried about the fact that their plan meant – they had no plan. No one knew what Sebastian had heard; no one could tell how he’d react, what questions he’d ask and what answers he should be given. It was the reason Hawke had demanded Varric would be present – Varric was amazing at reading people and body language and he trusted that the dwarf would make sure Sebastian got to hear what he was _supposed_ to hear for their safety – and the safety of Anders, Fenris and Lianni.

 

If all failed – Hawke sighed inwardly and hoped Zevran would find no reason to enact ‘Plan B’. He knew the Antivan was lurking in the shadows of the room, ready to strike if needed. Hawke wondered if he was truly ready to risk even more people’s lives for the safety of one.

 

His gaze met Varric’s and he knew the answer was ‘yes’.

 

 

Any further thoughts fled Hawke’s mind when the doors finally opened and the dreaded moment arrived.

 

Sebastian Vael hadn’t changed one bit, which was comforting. He still wore the armor his father had made for him, well-kept and shining, his appearance lighting up the room. There was also still Andraste’s face on his crotch and Hawke was instantly reminded of that one afternoon where Anders had teased Sebastian mercilessly about the belt buckle. It had actually been one of their more friendly conversations, with Anders not ceasing his teasing, Sebastian ending up blushing furiously and even Fenris had chuckled.

 

The strong white of his armor made Sebastian’s piercing blue eyes stand out. Still clean shaven and hair kept neatly. Hawke would have chuckled and made a friendly, teasing comment about it if their current situation wasn’t so dire.

 

Sebastian was accompanied by a Templar. A little older, probably the Starkhaven Circle’s Knight-Captain. There was a calm aura about this man. He and Sebastian both wore concerned expressions on their faces and Hawke certainly preferred that over right-out fury.

 

“Long time no see, my friend,” Sebastian greeted as he was still striding toward Hawke and Varric.

 

Hawke inclined his head, keeping his facial expression as neutral as possible. “And I regret it is under such circumstances,” he replied.

 

Sebastian gave a half-smile and finally came to a halt. Both reached out, hands meeting for strong shake.

 

“I am overjoyed to find you alive and well,” Sebastian Vael assured. “I was worried after I received news of Kirkwall’s destruction.”

 

“It was my luck that I was away from Kirkwall when it happened,” Hawke admitted. “I do wish though I had been here. Maybe I could have prevented this.”

 

Sebastian nodded and gestured at the Templar by his side. “Knight-Captain Rylen,” he introduced him. “He was overseeing Starkhaven’s Circle before it burned to the ground. He has been assisting in rebuilding the Circle and occasionally lend Kirkwall’s Circle a helping hand while they took in the mages we had to transfer for the time being.”

 

Rylen bowed his head but remained silent otherwise.

 

“I welcome you both and your men to Kirkwall,” Hawke said. “We need all the help we can get.”

 

Sebastian snorted, his entire composure relaxing and so did Hawke’s. “That much is obvious, my friend,” the Starkhaven prince agreed. “We have already sent a messenger to make sure more supplies will be brought.”

 

“But surely,” Rylen spoke up, “you will understand we have questions, Viscount?”

 

Hawke twitched just the slightest at being addressed with the title and Sebastian smiled encouragingly.

  
“Your appointment as Viscount has sure caused a bit of an uproar across the Free Marches, Hawke.”

 

Hawke huffed out a small laugh at that and scratched the back of his head. “I apologize but I had no idea about that until recently.”

 

Sebastian gestured at the desk. “Let us sit and speak.”

 

 

Cullen joined them after a few moments, bringing something to eat and a bottle of wine. Hawke was amazed that even in such dark times, a bottle of wine to serve guests could _always_ be found and had to stop himself from sneering over the irony of it. With all doors and windows closed, the noise of the crowd gathering in the Gallow’s courtyard and awaiting the results of their meeting was but a low murmur in the background.

 

Sebastian, surprisingly, had started off by asking Hawke where he had been when Kirkwall was destroyed and listened intently to the story about the Warden prison. Hawke decided to leave out the one or other detail, especially concerning the being named Corypheus, or the fact that the Warden Commander had accomanied them, but he made sure to stress the point that Anders, as a Grey Warden, had been with them – and far away from Kirkwall when everything had gone to the Void, unsure as to which version of the story Sebastian and Ser Rylen had heard before arriving in Kirkwall. Cullen remained silent the entire time, only half-listening but it was more than obvious how tense and uneasy he felt.

 

“So, you returned to Kirkwall when it was already burning to the ground?” Sebastian asked, finally breaching the subject. Hawke told himself to keep calm; next to him, Varric straightened his back a little, knowing he was soon to start talking.

 

“I’m afraid so,” Hawke replied. “We were looking forward to coming home and relax for a few days, only to find Kirkwall in ruins and people feeling in terror.”

 

“And they returned at the right time, too,” Varric spoke up calmly. “People were looking for someone to guide and protect them. Anders, a formidable healer as you well know, saw to those badly wounded. Hawke and I found each other as I had just managed to free myself from the Keep’s ruins.”

 

Cullen frowned but a sharp glance from Varric made sure he kept quiet.

 

“The apostate mage,” Ser Rylen said with a small nod.

 

“I could not help but notice that many of our mutual friends are not present,” Sebastian offered. “May I ask where they are? I do hope none of them fell victim to the destruction of Kirkwall?”

 

Hawke’s features darkened and Varric pointedly cleared his throat.

 

“Merrill returned to her clan and took many fugitives from the alienage with her. She deemed it safer if they were with their people as they recover.”

 

Sebastian nodded. “That makes sense. A wise decision.”

 

“We do not know where Isabela is currently at. As you know, she isn’t exactly welcome at Kirkwall after the Qunari uprise a few years ago.” Varric shrugged. “Aveline and her Guardsmen work hard to restore order and make sure everyone is getting help and a roof above their heads while Kirkwall is slowly rebuilt.”

 

Another nod. “Fenris?” Sebastian asked with a  tinge of sadness in his voice.

 

Hawke fought really hard not to look at Varric.

 

“We do not know where he is, I’m afraid. He has possibly fallen victim to the destruction of Kirkwall…or the upset mob.” Varric sighed and it sounded realistically sad.

 

“I asked him to find Anders, after we received word of the accusations against Anders having played an important role in the destruction of Kirkwall,” Hawke suddenly heard himself say. “Fenris never returned and neither have we been able to find him. All we found was Anders burned body. It seems someone decided to act, rather than ask questions first.”

 

Ice-blue eyes widened and Hawke thought Sebastian looked shocked, rather than pleased. Rylen’s face mirrored that expression and the two men exchanged a glance. “Anders was killed?” Sebastian choked out.

 

“We did hear about these accusations,” Rylen offered. “But we also received word that it was the Knight-Commander who caused the destruction. We weren’t sure which story to believe, which is why the Chantry sent us to investigate.”

 

Varric hummed thoughtfully. “And you had to arrive with an entire army to _investigate_?”

 

“You never know what dangers await you on the road,” Sebastian retorted calmly. “Neither did we know if Kirkwall was still in possession of soldiers to protect the citizens. It was merely precaution.” He folded his hands on the table, lips pursed. “I am sorry to hear about the mage.”

  
“Are you?” Rylen asked. He looked doubtful. “May I remind you of the group of mages we met, not too far from here? They attacked us.”

 

“If they indeed came from Kirkwall and it was indeed the Knight-Commander’s doing that the city was destroyed, I feel I cannot hold it against them that seeing an army of Templars made them want to protect themselves.”

 

“I shall hope you saw them to safety?” Hawke asked and Sebastian gave a sad laugh and looked up.

 

“My friend…always so compassionate,” he murmured. “We had Templars escort a few mages that have asked us to back to Starkhaven. The Circle has finished rebuilding and can finally host them once again. This group Ser Rylock speaks of, they did not want to follow peacefully.”

 

“So you killed them,” Hawke stated dryly.

 

“They _attacked_ us,” Rylen stressed.

 

“Anders was a troubled man,” Sebastian stated, “but he had a good heart and I wish to offer commiserations, Hawke. He was a dear friend to you.”

 

“I regret not having informed the Chantry about Knight-Commander Stannard’s strange behavior sooner,” Cullen spoke up. The first words, apart from a mumbled greeting earlier, that he’d spoken. He was looking at Hawke, who returned the gaze calmly and hoped Cullen would not reveal that parts of their story were untrue.

 

“You are not to disobey or question your Knight-Commander’s orders at any time,” Rylock informed Cullen. “You cannot be blamed for this.”

  
“Even if the orders have no longer anything to do with the Templars _protecting_ the mages and everything with being cruel?” Hawke challenged. Varric gave him a kick beneath the table and he felt, more than saw, the warning look his friend gave him.

  
Sebastian reached over and lay a calming hand on Rylen’s arm, when the Templar was just about to become upset. “I believe we should end this meeting for now,” he said. “We have traveled a long way and we are tired.”

  
Rylen glared at Sebastian.

 

“And our hosts look equally tired,” Sebastian added, “which is understandable after everything they have gone through. They felt alarmed because we marched toward Kirkwall, with an army in tow.” He turned his attention to Hawke. “Please know we do not mean to cause any trouble. We merely offer our support, my friend.”

 

“For which Kirkwall is grateful,” Hawke assured. “And I agree that we should continue after you had a few hour’s rest.”

 

“I would speak to Knight-Captain Cullen, if he’s of a mind?” Rylen requested. Cullen visibly swallowed and gave a sharp nod.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Varric mumbled, only for Hawke to hear and Hawke nodded his assent while the dwarf plastered a cheerful expression on his face and offered to show their guests to their quarters so they could freshen up and rest for a while.

 

“May we speak in private?” Sebastian asked Hawke as he slowly got up. “I promise I will not bother you for long.”

 

“Of course,” Hawke agreed and sat down once again.

 

They waited, silently, as Varric led Cullen and Rylen out of the office, closing the door loudly. Hawke leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing over his lips that Sebastian seemed to believe was meant for him, because he smiled back and leaned back as well. In truth, Hawke was merely relieved he was not _really_ alone with Sebastian. He couldn’t see Zevran but he felt the assassin’s presence in the shadows, silent and lethal.

 

“How does it feel to be Viscount?” Sebastian asked casually.

 

“I did not really want the position, but someone had to do it,” Hawke replied in kind, “and most seem to not have believed Meredith fit for the position. Certainly, she was busy enough with the Templar order and Circle matters.”

 

“So I’ve heard.” Sebastian studied his hands for a moment. Fine hands, Hawke thought, an archer’s hands who knew how to turn a simple bow into a deadly precise weapon. Coupled with that, Sebastian had a sharp, analytical mind. Not someone easy to fool.

 

“Meredith put up quite a fight, didn’t she?”

 

“She did. And this…” Hawke gestured around, “is the result. Did you know she requested the Rite of Anulment?”

 

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose.

 

“There were no maleficar. There was no actual _issue_ with the Circle at all, except for mages running away left and right because a handful Templars took things too far,” Hawke continued.

 

“I do remember Anders speaking of this often,” Sebastian agreed. “Yet I am also aware of investigations made and no proof having been found. I also know that at least one Templar has been conspiring with a few mages, planning to topple Meredith.”

 

“They were executed.”

 

“I’ve heard of that, too.” Sebastian sighed and leaned forward. “I am also aware that even if Anders had anything to do with Kirkwall’s current state, you’d protect him. I do not believe that’s wise, Hawke.”

 

“Anders had nothing to do with what happened to Kirkwall,” Hawke grunted out. “He was with me.”

 

“The question is whether it’s true or if you just say so to protect him.” Sebastian smiled. “I am sure Rylen’s talk with Cullen will reveal more information. The Knight-Captain looked ready to burst with the need of adding to our conversation.”

 

“When I met Cullen here at the Gallows, he was in the process of stopping Meredith and protecting those who were in need, including Kirkwall’s citizens and the mages,” Hawke challenged. “I’d be surprised if he told you anything different.”

 

Something flashed in Sebastian’s piercing blue eyes and Hawke tensed in his seat.

 

“Where is he?” the Starkhaven prince asked. “I honor your intentions, friend, but you have never been a very good liar.”

 

“He’s dead.”

 

Another sigh. “Hawke, why are you lying to me? If Anders is truly innocent in this, you have no reason to. I promise that everyone, involved or not, will experience justice. I am not a monster. I do want to help and I do support you as Viscount of Kirkwall.”

 

Hawke couldn’t help but smile. “You were gone a long time, Sebastian. A lot of things happened during your absence. And please, do not speak to me about _justice_.”

 

The shadow moved quick and with certainty. Not even someone as skilled and armed with quick reflexes as Sebastian was able to react in time and Hawke watched with interest as the Starkhaven prince suddenly tensed before his eyes fluttered close and his head dropped on the table.

 

Zevran smirked at Hawke and nodded, satisfied.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t kill him with poison?” Hawke asked.

 

“Worry not, my dear Garrett,” Zevran said with a chuckle. “The princeling will merely sleep for a while.” 


	26. TWENTY-SIX

Anders knew Roan was watching him as he carefully wrapped the young woman’s terribly cut leg. And it wasn’t only Roan; he could also feel Fenris’ piercing stare. He knew the elf wanted nothing more than leave, but he did honor that Fenris showed patience.

 

Tending to people had always calmed Anders. It gave him something to focus on – a wound that needed cleaning, maybe some stitching, and a clean bandage. Fevers that needed to be broken; coughs that had to be treated. Irregular heartbeats and shortness of breaths that he listened to intently, trying to decide on the severeness and the cause of the problem. When using magic, Compassion’s reassuring presence had always calmed Anders in a way nothing else could. Spirit Healers were rare, as a general rule, and they could do amazing things, but Anders knew he could be proud of his abilities, that exceeded what Spirit Healers could do by far. He didn’t only heal – he _created_. He knit flesh, healed broken bones; he did not only fight the symptoms of an illness, he took care of the _cause_. His knowledge of anatomy was probably unique, even among Spirit Healers and while obtained through quite a few forbidden books, Anders didn’t feel guilty for reading them. He had saved more lives than he would have been able to otherwise.

 

Knowing this both made him feel calm when he healed and filled him with pride. Pride over being born a mage.

 

And he’d be damned if he let anyone take this away from him.

 

Fenris did not want to linger, but Anders felt they owed those people at least a little something for giving them shelter and food.

 

Finishing the bandage, Anders looked up and spotted Lianni. She wasn’t too far away; still carrying that flower bouquet around, as she tried to interact with the people around her, adults and children alike. One of them was currently trying to explain a game to her and Anders could see that Lianni was both, curious and utterly overwhelmed. He remembered how overwhelmed Justice had been with all the things he’d learned and seen in the mortal world; a lyrium ring the only thing keeping him grounded and calm, much like Anders’ healing magic calmed him.

 

_I want you to have this_.

 

So close and yet Anders suddenly found himself lacking the courage to reach for it.

 

Watching Fenris interact with the little girl made him feel incredibly jealous. The elf had certainly been the last person Anders would have expected to accept a child so easily. Unlike Fenris, Anders still remembered having a family. He remembered what it felt like, being loved and kept safe. Unlike Fenris, Anders actually possessed the skills to deal with children; he’d done it often enough in his clinic in the past and they had liked him.

 

Why could he not make himself relax around her?

 

Slowly, his gaze drifted over to Fenris, who was still watching him intently. There was a thoughtful expression on the elf’s face and Anders wondered what it was Fenris saw.

 

“Will she be alright?” Roan spoke up and Anders flinched in surprise. He returned his gaze to the young woman – or maybe calling her ‘girl’ was still accurate. She could hardly be older than maybe seventeen winters. She had a nose way too big for her otherwise haggard face, freckles showering her prominent cheekbones. Her hair was black like the starless night sky and her deep-brown eyes revealed wisdom.

 

“Thank you very much,” she told him with a smile before she carefully got up and limped away.

 

“A couple days, if you change the bandage every day,” Anders told Roan absent-mindedly. His hands were itching to do more, to heal her leg immediately but that would give him away. He already believed Roan was suspicious, after bringing up the ‘Darktown healer’ last night and Anders did not want to reveal his or Fenris’ identity.

 

Still, he had missed healing so much, Anders could hardly believe he’d actually given up on his clinic in Kirkwall.

 

“I will make sure her leg’s taken care of properly,” Roan promised. “Your companion seems eager to leave.”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh. “I know. I apologize we’ve stayed for longer than we said we would, but I just couldn’t…” He sighed. “You were kind to us. I felt it important to repay your kindness by doing something for your people.”

 

Roan barked out a laugh and patted Anders’ shoulder. “We did not offer you to stay for the night because we expected something in return, my friendly stranger, but do know we are grateful. Meli had been complaining about her leg paining her for days and we were getting worried.”

 

“You are very welcome.” Another sigh and Anders got up, stretching his tense limbs before letting his gaze returned to Lianni once again. She was now actively playing with the other children, showing what she had learned so far and tried to get a hang on the game. Marbles. Anders couldn’t help a small smile at the sight of the colorful little glass beads being flicked around. He remembered playing with marbles himself when he was younger, in the days prior to setting the barn on fire. After all those years, he could not recall the rules anymore, but he remembered being proud of his marble collection. He had a few very pretty ones that the neighbor’s children had envied him for.

 

His favorite one, colored a dark blue, had ended up swallowed by one of his cats.

 

Anders frowned. More and more, memories that used to be nonexistent, memories of his childhood, were slowly returning and he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or worried. After he’d been taken to the Circle, after overcoming homesickness, there had been a phase where he had stubbornly wanted to forget everything about home and his parents. The memories had been too painful to handle and after a while, they would enrage him until finally, all he felt was a numbness and slowly, the memories faded away.

 

Eventually, Justice had happened and found a way to protect Anders from further pain and disappointment.

 

A calloused hand wrapped around his. Anders looked at Fenris, suddenly feeling tired and that expression on the elf’s face was unsettling.

 

“I would speak with you,” Fenris murmured, eyes pleading. “If you have a moment, amatus.”

 

“I shall see that I get some food into your little girl before you leave us,” Roan offered with a grin and left. Fenris’ fingers entwined with Anders’ as they watched Roan call for Lori.

 

“I have been thinking,” Fenris said, still keeping his voice low. There was no threat in his tone, nothing that gave reason for concern and yet, the simple words had Anders seize in a sudden panic, amber eyes wide and fearful as they locked gaze with the elf’s.

 

Fenris gave an amused huff. “Calm yourself,” he told Anders. “I have been thinking about you saying that I do not understand. It is true, I do not. I did not face who was once a friend turned demon in the Fade. I did not fight who was once dear and important to me and I cannot comprehend how you must have felt and how this is influencing you still.”

 

Anders gave an exasperated sigh. “Can we please not…”

 

“You thought it was over, after that fight in the Fade,” Fenris continued, not letting Anders irritate him. “You fought him. You won. It gave you both closure, as it gave me closure finally seeing Danarius die by my own hand. And then he returned, a fraction of him at least. You worry and I understand why you do. I do not question your…apprehension when it comes to her. She is but a child but she is also not human. There is indeed reason to fear that something may corrupt her and turn her into something neither of us wants to face.”

 

Anders narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“You look at her and you see him.”

 

The mage frowned. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You see what you believe to be your mistakes, embodied in Lianni,” Fenris clarified. “Is that it? I am trying to –“

 

The tortured cry that interrupted their conversation managed to send a chill down Fenris’ spine and he forgot what he’d meant to say to his mage. It went quiet in the camp, suddenly. People exchanged glances, some worried, some compassionate – some rightout terrified. The cry was followed by pained gRoans and sobs. Anders stiffened next to Fenris, worry and pity in his amber eyes.

  
“Do not,” Fenris pleaded quietly as he watched Lori and Roan exchange looks before Lori stomped off angrily, past the children playing on the ground and toward a small group of trees a few feet away from the actual camp.

 

It was only now that Anders and Fenris noticed there was another small tent and Lori was approaching it with fast steps and a determined expression.

 

“Why do they keep it separated from the camp?” Anders whispered.

 

“We should not care,” Fenris answered in kind. “Let us grab our belongings and get Lianni. We should leave and move on. Our destination is still far away and we do not know how much time Hawke can give us before Sebastian is on our trail.”

 

The gRoans and sobs, now paired with breathless, pain-filled pleas, continued. Keeping his tight hold on Anders’ hand, Fenris pulled the mage along as he steadily walked toward Lianni. Their game forgotten, the children were staring into the general direction of the separate tent. Lianni clutched her flower bouquet tightly to her chest.

 

“Maker,” Anders wheezed when the groans became louder. “I can’t…”

 

Fenris glanced sharply at the blond.

 

Roan slowly approached the two, a tortured look on his face. “My apologies, we should have warned you beforehand,” he said.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Anders asked through gritted teeth. Fenris could see the mage having an internal debate with Compassion and the tension in his tall body spoke for how hard Anders was fighting the urge to help. Through their joined hands, Fenris felt the compassionate warmth, Anders’ healing magic, pulsing in the mage’s veins and desperate to reach out.

 

“And why has he been set up separate from your camp?” Fenris added, eyes narrowing at Roan.

 

Roan sighed. “Because he is…” He made vague gestures with his big hands. “Lori feared he was going mad and would become a danger to the rest of our group. He hasn’t hurt anyone yet, but she doesn’t want him near the children. He sleeps most of the time and we occasionally wake him so he drinks and eats a little. We can do nothing for his, uh…illness.”

 

“He’s getting worse,” Lori announced sharply as she emerged from the tent. The look on her face was enough for Fenris to finally grab Lianni and lift her up, feeling her curl up against his chest.

 

“We might have to end it for him already, Roan,” Lori added as she glanced at Fenris, Lianni and finally Anders, who still seemed to fight the urge to just _heal_.

 

“Who is he?” Anders asked gently. “Why do you think he is going mad?”

 

“He’s a Templar,” Lori answered. Fenris did not miss the sneer. “And suffering from lyrium withdrawal.”

 

“He left the city with us when we decided that we won’t wait any longer for help to come,” Roan added. “People were _dying_ in front of the city’s gates.”

 

Anders’ face became stony and Fenris inwardly sighed in relief.

 

“Why is that man making scary noises?” Lianni asked, bottom lip sticking out in a small pout.

 

“Because he’s dying,” Anders’ answered tonelessly.

 

Lori and Roan frowned at him as Anders took a deep breath, seemingly having won his internal argument with Compassion, finally.

 

Lianni seemed to consider Anders’ answer. She had this expression on her face, one Fenris was very familiar with. It was the same expression Anders used to have whenever presented with an argument he couldn’t just push away, one that would make him second guess or rethink his decisions. Hawke had often managed to bring Anders to do such and Fenris had often wondered if it was thanks to Hawke that Anders had often chosen a different path than the one he had originally planned on.

 

“Don’t you wants to helps him then?” Lianni asked.

 

“No,” Anders replied gently.

 

“Why nots?”

 

If Anders hadn’t been so tense, Fenris would have chuckled, seeing the mage and Lianni wear identical expressions on their faces. Gazing at each other, curious and confused, Anders searching for the right words to answer the child’s question without possibly revealing too much to their hosts.

 

Fenris brought his lips to Lianni’s right ear, mostly covered by strands of soft blond hair. “He’s one of the bad people,” he whispered to her and watched the corners of the little girl’s mouth turn down.

 

“I’ve done what I could,” Anders said. “We should get on our way.”

 

“So you really plan on leaving?” Lori asked. “Wouldn’t it be safer to stay with a larger group?”

 

“No,” Fenris said. “Larger groups attract more attention.”

 

“And you want to avoid attention,” Roan said with a nod as Anders turned on his heels and walked off. To gather their belongings Fenris mused – and possibly to get away from the terrible sounds still coming from the Templar in his tent.

 

There was an amused smile on Roan’s lips as he watched Anders walk away. “Will you at least tell us where you are headed or would that information also endanger us?”

 

Fenris sighed, yet couldn’t help a smile of his own. “It is a possibility.”

 

Lianni wiggled in his arms. “Can I go say goodbye to the others?” she asked and Fenris released her with a nod. Lianni dashed off immediately, flower bouquet still in her arms.

 

~*~

 

The terrified scream echoing within cold stone walls let them know Vael had woken up.

 

It was underlined by a loud clap of thunder, strong enough it felt like the floor was vibrating under Hawke’s feet.

  
“Even the weather is being dramatic,” Varric commented dryly and Hawke snorted. It was Varric’s first attempt at humor ever since he’d found Hawke, Zevran and an unconscious Sebastian Vael. The look of utter disagreement on the dwarf’s face had made Hawke feel guilty, but before he could even utter something akin to an apology, Zevran had requested he helped him take the future Starkhaven Prince to the dungeons.

 

Once there, Hawke had found himself second-guessing Zevran’s intentions as well. It was only because the Antivan had the Warden Commander’s trust that Hawke let him do as he pleased.

 

“Was this necessary?” Varric asked Zevran with a sigh.

 

“It is important to make the right impression right away, yes?” Zevran replied with a smirk before slowly approaching Sebastian’s hunched form in one of the cells. The dungeons were dark; what little light the lit torches managed to shed was swallowed by the darkness as well. The air was damp and smelled of moss, fecies and stale water.

 

And one dead body dressed in Anders’ clothes. The man himself that Zevran had sacrificed for the sake of keeping their mutual friends safe was barely recognizable anymore. The fire had done it’s job. The mage’s old coat was ruined, but the feathers, surprisingly, had only been singed and were still able to make out, as well as Anders’ staff, broken in half and positioned next to the corpse.

 

“Rise and shine,” Zevran sing-sang, and Sebastian groaned.

 

“Hawke!” he hissed. Ice-blue fixed their angry gaze on him and the corners of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Is this necessary?” the Starkhaven asked, his tone surprisingly gentle now. He was a somewhat pitiful sight, kneeling in the dirt, arms wrapped around himself. Hawke couldn’t tell whether Sebastian was cold or trying to keep his stomach in check.

 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Hawke countered with a small smile.

 

“And Varric,” Sebastian continued as he spotted the dwarf’s short form in the shadows. “I must say I am disappointed that you are taking part in this as well.”

 

Varric gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen, princeling…I had no part in you getting knocked out, but you should also realize that trying to appeal to my honor or conscience doesn’t work. I possess neither.”

 

“And who is he?” Sebastian asked as he took in Zevran’s sight. “I am afraid we haven’t had the pleasure yet, Serah.”

 

“Ah,” Zevran said with a nod, “and I am afraid my name will not help you much.” He leaned forward, bringing their faces so close together that their noses almost touched. “You, on the other hand, could be tremendous help to _me_ , if you are of a mind.”

 

Blue eyes returned their gaze to the burned corpse in front of him. Hawke was surprised to find sorrow on Sebastian’s face when the archer recognized the coat and broken staff. Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a short prayer.

 

“He did not deserve such a fate,” Sebastian eventually said.

 

“And what would you have preferred? Seeing him publicly executed for a crime he did not commit?” Hawke asked.

 

“I do agree that occasionally, both the Chantry and the Templar order pass judgment too quickly.” Sebastian sighed and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relief some of the tension. “You really need to get better at this game of politics, Hawke,” he admonished gently.

 

“I have friends who are far better at it than I,” Hawke quipped. “Politics is not my strong suit. My strong suit is keeping people safe and wielding swords.”

 

“I do remember that.” Vael offered a lopsided smile, his expression open and neutral as they looked at each other. “Although I dare say you possess quite a few more redeeming qualities, my friend.”

 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose in a silent invitation for Vael to continue.

 

Sebastian sighed. “Very well. When I first heard about the destruction of Kirkwall, I indeed considered the possibility that Anders is responsible for it. I immediately gathered whatever soldiers were willing to follow me to Kirkwall to offer support and protection. At that time, the Chantry and the Templar order were not yet involved in my plans. It wasn’t until I heard of Grand Cleric Elthina’s death – should I say murder? – that I addressed the Chantry to offer my support. As you well know, Elthina and I have been very close. She has been like a mother for me in the many years I have spent here.”

 

Hawke nodded. “My condolences. I must admit I have no overview on who all fell victim to the events that led to Kirkwall’s destruction yet.”

 

“It will probably take weeks until you manage to get an overview on anything much,” Sebastian murmured. “I barely recognized the city when we arrived.” He sighed. “Where was I? Oh, yes – obviously, Elthina’s death forced the Chantry to make a move as well. I had not voiced my suspicions concerning Anders. It is not in my nature to make accusations without having proof. The Templars would have come here one way or another, to restore order. That Kirkwall’s Circle had equally suffered destruction and the mages managed to flee, we didn’t know until we were ready to leave Starkhaven.”

 

“Who told you?” Hawke asked, his gaze briefly straying to Zevran. The elf was still face to face with Vael, keeping perfectly still, like a statue. Sharp eyes were focused on Sebastian, watchful and wary.

 

“A young Templar aspirant. I am afraid I never learned his name. He arrived at Starkhaven, exhausted and badly injured. He was later questioned by members of the Chantry while a healer saw to him. He reported that the Gallows, like the Chantry and Viscount’s Keep, were the first to fall and that explosives had played an important role in the destruction of the city.” Sebastian pursed his lips. “It was then that I feared the Qunari had returned, to finish what their late Arishok had begun. But rumors reaching Starkhaven about Knight-Commander Stannard having destroyed Kirkwall had me discard that thought quickly.” He huffed out a small laugh. “I assume you can imagine the uproar this caused within the Chantry and the Templar order, Hawke. One of _them_ , enacting such violence on a city and its residents…”

 

“Believe me when I say that _violence_ is still too mild to describe what she has done,” Varric spoke up quietly.

  
“I do believe you, my friend,” Sebastian assured. “I have seen it with my own eyes now, haven’t I? I do wonder what’s strong enough to cause such destruction.”

 

“We don’t know,” Hawke told him. “And it’s probably for the best if we never find out so this will not repeat itself in the future.”

 

“I agree.”

 

“And what were you planning on doing, once you get here?” Varric asked. “I must admit I am curious.”

 

“I came here with only good intentions,” Sebastian said reassuringly. “We have brought two healers, herbs and other healing supplies, as well as food.”

 

“And a lot of steel and sharp blades, yes?” Zevran added with a smirk.

 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the elf. “Naturally, we did not only have to protect the supplies but be ready in case Kirkwall is in need of protection. I can assure you it was never discussed that we’d cause more harm to the citizens.”

 

“What about the mages?” Hawke asked.

 

“I have no bearing on what the Chantry decides to do about the escaped mages or the destroyed Circle, I’m afraid. Obviously, they will attempt to recover as many of the phylacteries as possible that will help Templars track down the mages.”

 

Hawke frowned. “What are phylacteries?”

 

“Anders hasn’t told you about these?” Sebastian glanced briefly at the corpse in front of him. “They take the blood of every mage on the day they are brought to the Circle. They put the blood into a small vial and add something to it…a magical essence, I believe. Elthina has not been able to tell me about it in great detail. These vials are called phylacteries. From what I heard, as long as the mage the blood was taken from is alive, the essence within the vials will glow and the glowing intensifies the closer you get to the mage in question. It was invented a very long time ago in order to help the Templar order track down apostates.”

 

If Hawke had believed he’d seen Varric in all states of confusion, anger or irritation by now, he’d been wrong. The extremely sour expression on the dwarf’s face and the way the short man’s shoulders set were a new one.

 

“Wait, are you saying the Templar order is using _blood_ magic to keep track on their runaway mages?”


	27. TWENTY-SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...that took forever °u°

Even though Vael had not voiced refusal and accompanied their search for a good two hours now, the reluctance with which he did was painfully obvious.

 

Searching the Gallows turned out more difficult than Hawke had anticipated. While the courtyard bore the marks of the fight that had taken place there, the rest had looked in rather good shape considering the most recent events. It soon became clear that, apart from the dungeons, the rest of the Gallow’s basement had fallen to destruction destruction, partly caused by the war between mages and Templars, partly due to the explosions that had shaken Kirkwall’s foundation. Some corridors had collapsed completely, others were easily freed. Only few had remained intact.

 

The first half hour of their search, Zevran had entertained them with the story of how a Templar named Ser Rylock had once tricked the Warden Commander and Anders, freshly recruited as Grey Warden, making the mage believe his phylactery was to be found within the city. Many years ago, Anders had already sought to destroy it in order to remain free and untrackable by the Templar order. It made Hawke wonder why his father had never mentioned the phylacteries and if his still existed. Malcolm Hawke had never spoken much about the Circle and everything that came with it, but Hawke did remember that his father had often told Bethany how very lucky she was. Over the years, Hawke had often wondered if it had not been a blessing that Bethany never left Lothering, never came here and never got caught. It had taken him a long time to see that the situation of Kirkwall’s Circle especially was as dire as Anders claimed it to be. Just thinking about Bethany being exposed to so much cruelty…

 

“Don’t you think the phylacteries were immediately recovered and brought to safety when it became apparent that the Circle was in danger?” Sebastian asked as they searched yet another small storage room. “If Knight-Commander Stannard indeed planned the destruction of Kirkwall ahead of time, surely she would have thought of this.”

 

“Or maybe the mages destroyed them before they left,” Varric spoke up from a dark corner. “Many rooms have been set on fire. It is impossible to say what the Templars had stored in there.”

 

“I must voice my concern that you asked me to help find and destroy them,” Sebastian added gently. “You do know I was long a son of the Chantry, Hawke.”

 

“Shut up, Choir boy,” Varric grunted and kicked at what looked like an empty, broken wine bottle, sending it rolling across the room, missing Sebastian’s feet by an inch. Vael sighed in response and while his expression was apologetic, he made no move to voice one toward the dwarf. Hawke wasn’t sure if Vael had any reason to apologize for something that both, the Chantry and the Templar order, had enacted long before he had been born.

 

“I doubt Anders’ phylactery will be found here,” Sebastian tried again. “I see no reason why Kinloch Hold would have transferred it to Kirkwall. There is also no saying if it wasn’t already destroyed when the Kinloch Hold was run over by abominations and darkspawn.”

 

Zevran chose that moment to join them by the room they had just raided. A simple shrug told Hawke that his lover had not been able to find any maps or any notes on where the phylacteries had been stored. His sharp ears had caught Sebastian’s words and he sighed. “My dear Vael, if Anders had known or truly believed his phylactery had been destroyed at Kinloch Hold, he would have not been concerned and tried to find it in Amaranthine.”

 

“Wasn’t Blondie still there when that place went to the Void?” Varric asked as he marched on to the next room.

 

“From what I know, yes,” Zevran confirmed. He remained at Hawke’s side, his eyes on Sebastian who was walking between Varric and them, still reluctant. Hawke fought the urge to grab and shake him.

 

“Anders was at Kinloch Hold during the last blight?” Sebastian sounded curious. “He has never mentioned that.”

 

“He did make use of the chaos and made his final escape that took him right to Vigil’s Keep,” Zevran replied. “And to the Warden order, obviously.”

 

“He has some guts, running away while half of Thedas is overrun by Darkspawn,” Varric said around a snort.

 

“Obviously, Anders believed greater horrors await him within Kinloch Hold’s walls,” Hawke mused aloud.

 

Sebastian huffed out a laugh at that and immediately, all four men came to a halt. “Hawke, truly, I do not think that Darkspawn is less of a concern than any Circle tower in Thedas. I will not refuse to see that things got out of hand in some places. Kirkwall, especially. But certainly, you cannot –“

 

“Have you ever experienced solitary, my friend?” Zevran cut him off sharply. The playfulness that the elf usually had about him was gone. Hawke didn’t think he’d ever seen the Antivan so serious.

 

Both Varric and Sebastian were caught just as off-guard. While Varric immediately seemed to ponder something, Hawke secretly enjoyed watching Sebastian’s carefully neutral mask slip in his surprise.

 

“No, I haven’t,” he admitted. “I have heard of such punishment and I know it is enacted still, although I personally debate if solitary confinement is truly a good way to go about punishing someone.” Sebastian sighed. “I would imagine, though, that solitary confinement is a preferred alternative to whipping and flocking, since –“

 

“I assure you it is not,” Zevran once again interrupted coldly. “Nothing is more cruel than to deprive a man from social life. Physical contact. To hold them captive in a dark hole, the sound of their own breathing the only company. Make them _crave_ the times where they come to bring you something to eat or merely to take pleasure in being able to punish you where no one can hear you scream. Many even crave the punishment, because it is a form of social interaction.”

 

The expression on Sebastian’s face was compassionate now; his body language revealed that the change of subject made the future prince of Starkhaven uncomfortable.

  
“You speak from experience,” Vael acknowledged gently.

 

“A punishment slaves undergo often,” Zevran agreed. “Even death is more merciful and many beg for their death rather than being locked away in such manner.” The Antivan paused quietly to check yet another room. Its door was still intact and it was too dark to see anything in there, yet Hawke noticed that Zevran seemed to take an interest in it. “Most only get locked away for a few hours. A handful will suffer solitary confiment for a few days.”

 

“I am sorry you had to go through this,” Sebastian told the elf and he did sound sincere.

 

“Oh, I was only locked away once, at the beginning,” Zevran replied with a smirk. “I was a good student and eager to learn. I soon realized the less I fight the Crows, the better I will do. There is no need for your pity concerning me, yes?”

 

Sebastian frowned.

 

“But imagine being locked away in such manner for a year,” the Antivan continued, the smirk gone once again. “Imagine not speaking to a single soul, imagine not seeing the daylight, not knowing what time of the day it is or how long you’ve been in there. Wondering if you had been forgotten. Begging for anyone to come see you, even if it is only to inflict pain on your or abuse you in whichever manner they see fit. Imagine being thankful if they lay a hand on you, because you crave touch.”

 

“Maker, Zevran,” Hawke breathed out and shook his head. The mere idea that anyone would do this to another person…

 

“You wish to understand the man that Anders is?” Zevran asked Sebastian challengingly. “That can be arranged, yes?”

 

“Zevran,” Hawke addressed his lover gently. Gently but with a warning in his tone that was once again disregarded by the Antivan. Zevran certainly was not easily impressed by any sort of threat. A quick look around and before Hawke or Varric could react, Zevran roughly pushed Sebastian into the room he had just inspected, shut the door and shot the bolt. Immediately, Sebastian banged his fists against the door with a yell.

 

Varric stared at the locked door, eyes almost comical wide.

 

“Welcome in a mage’s shoes,” Zevran called through the door, which Sebastian requited with another shout and a bang of his fist.

 

“Let me out!” Vael demanded furiously.

 

“Many returned from solitary confinement completely retarded,” Zevran continued, unimpressed by the man’s anger. “No longer able to interact or understand human emotions. Shying away from touch because it scared them now. Many have also returned completely mad, hallucinating, speaking nonsense.”

 

“Hawke!” Sebastian called demandingly and Hawke wanted to move, wanted to ask Zevran to let Sebastian out but he felt unable to do anything else than stare at the Antivan.

 

“You have time now to think about this,” Zevran said. “I am quite tired of you leading us in circles, yes?”

 

Varric frowned at the words and looked around. Indeed, without them really noticing, Sebastian had mostly taken the lead around this place, a place familiar to the former Chantry brother.

 

“That bastard,” Varric muttered under his breath and even Hawke was sour now.

 

“I suggest we start searching the areas that we’ve left out until now, so our fruitless search ends, yes?” Zevran suggested with a smirk. His features softened when he locked gazes with Hawke. “I do realize you do not approve of this, mi amor, but what do you suppose we do about him and his companions? We do not know yet what Cullen told his fellow Templar. Neither do we know what your dear prince of Starkhaven will tell his men, or the Chantry _or_ the Templar order. We need time to think.”

 

“Hawke!” Sebastian once again barked through the closed door.

 

“And he needs time to cool down,” Zevran added as an afterthought.

 

“I hate to say it but your lover boy is right,” Varric admitted grumpily. “While I kept an eye on the Knight-Captain, I did not get the impression he was letting anything spill that could endanger our friends on the run, but Andraste knows what he might have told the others while I had to keep an eye on you two idiots!”

 

“So he _is_ still alive!”

 

Varric paled. He did not make such mistakes. He simply didn’t.

 

“Fantastic,” Zevran remarked dryly.

 

“Hawke, Varric…please…” Sebastian tried. “I told you he will not have to fear any harm if he is indeed not responsible.”

 

Hawke sighed. “Fantastic indeed.”

 

“Blighted nug shit,” Varric swore, his face now reddening with anger. Varric Tethras did _not_ make such mistakes, he berated himself. “I need a fucking drink.”

 

 

~*~

 

There was another thing Lianni had in common with Anders, apart from the same nose and the hair, Fenris figured, as he crossed the camp in a hurry, cursing under his breath. Disappearing without a warning.

 

He had turned his back on the child for a mere moment, maybe two, to finish packing. Anders had been quiet, lost in thoughts that Fenris wished he had an insight on. When he’d turned around again to call for Lianni, she was gone.

 

The other children she had said goodbye to were of no help. The rest of the camp was too busy preparing to move on or go hunting to pay attention to a little girl with a flower bouquet. Small details within larger groups, certainly, but if they continued to be so careless, Fenris had no doubt that Roan and his people would soon face worse problems than a missing child.

 

“Lianni?” he called as he distanced himself from the camp, sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. Thick groups of trees, wide fields that offered no protection following the forest. The two scouts he’d seen leave earlier were returning, chatting away as they marched toward the camp.

 

Fenris’ steps slowed when he passed the Templar’s tent. He could hear the man pant harshly, groan in pain and whispering nonsense. Fenris was familiar with lyrium withdrawal. Young apprentices in Tevinter who liked to experiment a lot would often use lyrium potions so they could keep casting spells. Some overdid it. Mages did suffer withdrawal symptoms, something that had surprised Fenris at first, though usually, they were delusional, complaining about dizziness and weak stomachs.

 

Some had also lost their lives.

 

A human body, such as the Templar’s, not cut out to deal with lyrium, suffered worse and true to Anders’ earlier words, Fenris could already _smell_ death coming for this man, its cold and unforgiving claws reaching for the man’s life.

 

And he smelled flowers.

 

Fenris froze, head whipping around. Within seconds, he was rushing into the tent, one hand covering his nose and mouth against the terrible smells.

 

She had left the flower bouquet by the tent flap. Fenris could barely avoid stepping. His chest tightened with fear when he found Lianni kneeling by the Templar’s head, regarding him curiously. There was not much to be found inside the Templar’s tent. A ragged bedroll, soaked with sweat and other body fluids Fenris didn’t want to think about; the Templar’s armor had been set up neatly just a step away from the dying man’s head. His sword was within reach, should he find the strength to extend a hand. A small travel bag right next to his pillow, as ragged as the bedroll. Without the sunlight, it would be rather dark inside the tent, Fenris noticed. Not even a candle had been lit and he wondered if they truly left him alone in the dark at night.

 

“Lianni,” Fenris hissed and the little girl flinched in surprise, big green eyes looking up apologetically. “Come here,” he demanded quietly. “We are leaving.”

 

“He’s very sick,” Lianni said, not moving from her spot. “Isn’t he?”

 

Fenris didn’t remember this particular Templar, but then Kirkwall had harbored many of them and Fenris hadn’t usually paid them much attention. His face was ashen, thin bloodless lips moving, forming silent words. A prayer, Fenris figured. Dark, sweaty hair clung to the man’s forehead. Fenris guessed him to be in his mid-forties, though the effects of the lyrium withdrawal could have changed his appearance dramatically. Trembling hands were clutching a blanket too thin for the cold of past nights and those to come.

 

Sensing no immediate danger from the tortured man, Fenris dared to take another step into the tent and closer to the little girl.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed as he knelt down next to her. “He has been taking something poisonous for years. It enhanced his abilities and gave him strength, but now that he is no longer taking it, his body suffers.”

 

“Could Anders help him?” Lianni whispered. “Could he make this stop?”

 

“Yes,” Fenris said without hesitation. “I believe Anders can. Do you understand why he chose not to?”

 

“Because this man is one of the bad people,” the little girl replied with a nod and it was then that Fenris noticed something had changed in the way Lianni spoke. What had sounded like a lisp was gone.

 

“There are good and bad Templars, just as there are good and bad mages, good and bad men and women of _either_ race,” Fenris told Lianni, pulling her close. “I cannot say if this man has ever wronged a mage in his life, but I understand Anders’ fear of them in general, just as I can understand his hate.”

 

“Is Cullen a good Templar or a bad one?”

 

The question surprised him. “You remember him, from the Hanged Man?”

 

Lianni nodded.

 

“I do not know. I know Anders knows Cullen from the Circle he’s escaped from. He has never mentioned Cullen having done something terrible.”

 

“But he also hasn’t stopped bad Templars from doing bad things, did he?”

 

Fenris couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him at her words. “Now you sound like him,” he said fondly and Lianni offered a small smile. “From what I hear, Cullen has fought with Anders and Hawke to stop the bad Templars at the Gallows. A fight we missed because we were in the Deep Roads, at the time.”

 

“The place with the nice spider?”

 

He made a face at her and Lianni actually giggled and looked bashful. _She evolved_ , Fenris realized. Something had happened, something that had made her grow emotionally and mentally, within the last few hours. He wondered if his talk with her had caused this. Fenris would have to speak to Anders, who had more knowledge on things concerning the Fade, even if the mage himself claimed he had no idea what Lianni was exactly, either.

 

The Templar coughed and Lianni jumped in surprise, pressing her tiny body against Fenris’ side. A shaky intake of breath followed the cough and Fenris could hear the Templars’ lungs rattle in his chest. His body was too weak by now to fight infections, Fenris mused. If the agony his body and mind were in didn’t kill the Templar before nightfall, pneumonia would do it within a few days.

 

“We should leave,” Fenris murmured and patted her back reassuringly. “Let this man rest. We can do nothing for him.”

 

Lianni nodded and slowly got to her feet. She immediately reached for the briefly abandoned flower bouquet. Some of the flowers were starting to droop in their need for water.

 

Another cough from the Templar caught Fenris’ attention and, in an act of mercy, he reached for the blanket and pulled it up to the Templar’s chin, tucked him in. Fenris considered asking Roan to make sure this man got another blanket for the night, but something told him that the Templar would not be taken along once this camp broke up.

 

Fenris fingered his cloak, considering the density of the fabric. It was warm, certainly warmer than the thin blanket covering the Templar’s trembling body and would serve him well for the night to come. That man would suffer enough without freezing on top of everything else. But leaving the cloak with the man would mean revealing his entire appearance to the people in the camp. The lyrium markings on his chin and throat had attracted enough curious glances. Revealing more would mean he could possibly be recognized. These people were former citizens of Kirkwall and they had undoubtedly heard of Hawke and his companions. The risk was too great.

 

 

The Templar moved so suddenly, he managed to catch Fenris offguard. Bloodshot eyes snapped open, a tormented sound escaping his screamed raw throat. Hands gripped Fenris’ arms, his markings flaring in response. Sharp fingernails, gone too long without any tending to, cut sharply into his skin and the swirls of lyrium. Fenris hissed in pain and tried to pull away. The Templar proved to be surprisingly strong.

 

“Lyrium,” came the needy whisper and Fenris growled, fighting the iron grip.

 

“Let go, Templar!”

 

“Fenris!” Lianni called fearfully when Fenris couldn’t seem to fight the Templar off. Blood flowed down his arms. His skin was burning and Fenris stopped his struggle for a moment to look at the injuries caused by the desperate man’s fingernails. Blood mixed with streaks of blue. Had that mad man truly…?

 

“Give it to me,” the man begged, his head lifting to reach the bleeding cuts. “Please, give it to me.”

 

“Let go of him!”

 

Fenris froze when Lianni was suddenly by his side, tiny hands balled into fists and hitting the man’s chest angrily. The Templar groaned in pain, but his grip on Fenris’ only tightened further under the assault.

 

“Let go, let go, let go!” Lianni demanded angrily as she kept punching weakly. If he weren’t so afraid, Fenris would have felt pride that moment.

 

“Lianni, don’t,” Fenris gritted out. “Step away from him!”

 

“No, he has to let go first!”

 

The Templar howled when Lianni finally managed to find a particularly sensitive spot on his body. A violent cough made his body shook and Fenris tried, once again, to free himself. Lianni caught on quick and kept hitting that particular spot, her cheeks flushed from anger while unshed tears glittered in her eyes.

 

Dirty fingernails dug into the scratch wounds on his arms and Fenris screamed. Sharp, blinding pain spread throughout his entire body, spread by his own bloodstream when lyrium seeped into his veins. His markings flared brightly in response to the assault and Fenris told himself to concentrate, to phase and free his arms but he felt unable to move. His body was fighting the lyrium in his bloodstream and Fenris felt like his insides were burning away.

 

Fenris’ eyes met Lianni’s. The little girl was staring at him, eyes wide with shock and fear. “Run,” he told her, though his words were muffled by the groans and the gibberish spilling from the Templar’s lips.

 

Lianni’s cheeks puffed at the words and she returned her attention to the desperate Templar that refused to let go. She climbed on top of the man’s body, her tiny fists hitting his shoulders now instead.

 

“You are hurting him, let go!” she shouted. “Let go, let go, **_let go_**!”

 

Fenris’ body seized with a sudden fear. Emerald eyes wide in disbelief, he watched Lianni’s tiny body light up, cracks of blue disappearing everywhere.

 

“ ** _Let go of him_** ,” the Fade creature demanded and a choked sound escaped the Templar.

 

Fenris felt the magic wash over him, causing his markings to burn and yet, he had never experienced a sweeter pain than in this very moment. The blast tightened his chest before knocking back the Templar, washing over Lianni’s body like it was merely a gentle breeze. Finally, his arms were released and Fenris let himself fall to his left, rolling away from the Templar.

 

“You Maker forsaken bastard,” Anders’ voice thundered through the tent and from the corner of his eyes, Fenris watched Anders stride toward the Templar, his tall form slightly hunched to accommodate the height of the tent. A slender, shaking hand reached for the sword. The mage surprised Fenris with the swiftness with which he picked up and swirled it around before aiming the sharp end of the blade at the Templar’s throat.

 

“Anders, don’t,” Fenris choked out.

 

“Don’t _what_?” the mage demanded.

 

“Don’t kill him.”

 

Their gazes locked and Anders regarded him with disbelief, his amber eyes dark, half of his face illuminated by a blue-ish light that no doubt came from Lianni. Why was Anders not taken aback?

 

“He’s desperate,” Fenris said hoarsely as he slowly got into a sitting position. “Templar or not, he’s mad with pain and the effects of lyrium withdrawal and I refuse to let you spill the blood of a man who is obviously beyond reason.”

 

Fenris had expected Anders to argue, but instead, the mage’s features softened and he lowered his sword to the ground. Both of them looked at Lianni, still sitting on top of the Templar, who was gasping for each breath. Anders looked sad, Fenris thought, as he took in the sight of the little girl, the eerie glow that made her skin look white, split by cracks of blue. Lianni, in return, looked scared, her gaze lowered as if she was expecting judgment from the tall man towering over her.

 

“Release him,” Anders demanded, his tone gentle and Lianni glanced up. The pale green eyes were gone, replaced by pools of unworldly blue Fenris was painfully familiar with and the realization numbed the pain coursing through his body.

 

“Lianni, it’s alright now…get off him,” Anders tried again and this time, the little girl listened and climbed off the Templar quickly. The eerie glow and the cracks of blue faded almost instantly, leaving behind a scared little girl with trembling hands and a guilty expression on her face.

 

The Templar’s gasps grew louder, his chest heaving while Fenris took turns between keeping an eye on mage and child and inspecting the scratches on his arms. They had stopped bleeding and the markings were slowly returning to their original form, sealed and no longer seeping lyrium into his bloodstream. Now that the burning in his veins was slowly ebbing off, Fenris felt sick. He could only remember one time, with wounds more severe and more lyrium ending where it had no business to be and how sick he’d felt afterwards. He had since made sure to not get injured or at least take blows in areas of his body that would not lead to lyrium going astray.

 

“Fenris,” Anders addressed him gently.

 

“I’m fine,” Fenris murmured, gaze now resting on the Templar. “It seems you delivered the final blow to his ill body.”

 

There was pity in Anders’ eyes; something Fenris had not anticipated he’d ever witness, where a Templar was concerned. “The spell I cast at him caused one of his lungs to collapse,” the mage agreed quietly.

 

The tent flaps opened and Roan stomped into the tent, followed by three other men and Lori. “What in the name of the Maker is going on here?” Roan demanded to know, making the three of them jump.

 

“The child snuck into his tent,” Fenris rasped. “I was looking for her and had meant to take her away so we could leave, but the Templar woke and attacked me.”

 

The Templar in question coughed. It sounded wet and Roan made a face at the dying man.

 

“He’s lost his mind,” Lori said from behind her husband. “Roan, please, we should end it for him already. We cannot take him along, he’s no longer able to walk and we can’t just leave him here to die, either.”

 

While Lori and Roan debated about the fate of the Templar, Anders knelt and grabbed Fenris’ arm to check on it.

 

“He was after your lyrium, wasn’t he?” Anders murmured.

 

“He would obviously be after the one thing that promises relief,” Fenris replied in kind. “It was my mistake. I had meant to tuck his thin blanket around him for more warmth. I did not expect him to wake up.”

 

Anders grimaced at the dirty scratch wounds and touched his fingertips to them gently. “I’ll take care of that in a moment,” he promised. “When we are alone.”

 

“I’m less concerned over my arms and more about _her_ ,” Fenris hissed and glanced at Lianni across the mage’s shoulder. She was still making herself small and looked every bit like a distressed child and not like the creature Fenris had seen only moments ago. “And her resemblance to an old friend of yours,” he added, even quieter.

 

“Maybe you can understand me better now,” Anders replied gently.

 

A shadow hovering above them made both men look up. Roan eyed the markings on Fenris’ arm, now no longer hidden beneath the cloak, then met Anders’ gaze. “Will you friend be alright, Healer?” Roan asked.

 

Anders huffed out a laugh, a hapless smile on his lips. “Fenris will be fine,” he assured and the elf’s ears twitched nervously. “I healed his son, a few years ago,” Anders explained as he got back to his feet.

  
“And I never forgot the face of the man who showed so much kindness without asking for anything in return,” Roan agreed. “Though, you have aged.”

 

“Sadly, magic abilities don’t keep one young forever.”

 

“And when did you plan on telling me?” Fenris demanded to know as he got on his feet as well.

 

“I wasn’t sure if he indeed recognized me,” Anders said. “Until now.”

 

“You are both companions of the Champion of Kirkwall,” Roan stated. “I’ve heard of an elf with white markings, though I’ve never learned your name until now.”

 

A pained moan from the Templar interrupted their brief chat and Anders sighed. Fenris could see the internal debate the mage had with himself and how difficult a decision he had to make. When Anders’ shoulders slumped a fraction, Fenris felt relieved.

 

“Lianni?” Anders addressed the little girl and Lianni perked. “Do you remember that small bag in my backpack? The one you asked me about when we were packing to leave Kirkwall?”

 

Lianni nodded shyly.

 

“Can you get it for me?”

 

Her lips pursed. “Yes?”

 

“Be quick.”

 

Lianni bolted from the tent, almost running into Lori who let out a surprised yelp and called Lianni a whirlwind.

 

“Are you sure you can do anything for him?” Roan asked, nodding at the gasping Templar.

  
“Maker fuck me,” Anders grunted out, “and be my witness that I truly believe he doesn’t deserve this, but no one’s going to die here today.”


	28. Twenty-Eight

Anders let his hand hover above the Templar’s sweaty forehead and sent a gentle spark of healing magic through his body. His own magic, still working inside the Templar, responded and with a nod, Anders leaned back and soaked the cloth he’d received from Lori in a bowl filled with cold water. He wrung it a few times before placing it on the Templar’s forehead. A soft sigh escaped the man on the bedroll and Anders realized some color had returned to his face by now.

 

It was mostly quiet around them by now; sunset had been about two hours ago. Fenris had organized two candles that spent a bit of light as they kept watch over the Templar; green eyes gleamed in the semi dark, watching his every movement and Anders was surprised Fenris had not voiced a complaint yet about the fact that they were supposed to be on their way by now and not still at Roan’s camp.

 

“Will he make it?” Fenris asked, the first words he’d spoken since Anders had started healing the Templar, a process that took longer than he had anticipated.

 

“I am waiting for him to wake up.”

 

“And then what?”

 

Anders sighed. “I can take away some of the pain and soothe other side effects of the withdrawal, but I can’t _cure_ withdrawal with a snap of my fingers. He will have to start over.” He reached for his small bag and retrieved a vial of lyrium. He had no idea why Varric had gotten one for them, Anders was no longer in need of lyrium to replenish his mana. “He’ll get some from me. It’s not ideal but it will help him survive. At least tonight and the next couple days.”

 

Fenris hummed in agreement.

 

“How’s your arm?”

 

“Still attached,” Fenris teased gently, relieved when Anders smiled. The markings were still sensitive and after Fenris had voiced concern that Anders trying to heal those scratches would cause more pain to him, the mage had merely bandaged them. Fenris’ cloak was now serving as an additional blanket for the Templar and the elf felt the chill of the night.

 

“We should talk.”

 

“About Lianni.” Another sigh escaped the mage’s lips and he slowly inched away from the now peacefully resting Templar and closer to his elf. Fenris let himself be wrapped into Anders’ arm and pulled underneath his warm cloak, pressing closer when he felt the heat of the other man’s body. Fenris shivered for a moment when the warmth chased away the slight chill in his bones.

 

“I have been thinking about the things you have told me, during the past few days,” Fenris murmured. “And about what you told me happened in the Fade.”

 

“You seem to be doing that a lot,” Anders teased, a small smile on his lips.

 

“I do not know much about the Fade or the creatures that inhabit it,” Fenris continued with a smile of his own. “But if what I know is correct, please hear me out?”

 

Anders nodded.

 

“I know that it is possible to kill someone in the Fade. I know that if I kill a man in the Fade, he won’t wake up in this world and his body will eventually die. The same happens if someone lingers in the Fade for too long, a dream they won’t wake up from or lured in by demons. Am I correct?”

 

Anders thought of the Harrowing every Circle mage had to undergo in order to prove they were able to steer clear from demonic corruption; thought of the many mages that never woke up. How terrified he had been when it was his time to undergo the Harrowing. “Yes.”

 

“Am I also correct to assume that if you kill a demon in the Fade, it ceases to exist?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The elf nodded. “And yet, whom I saw earlier was Justice, wasn’t it?” he asked and reached up to bury his fingers in Anders’ hair. “Or fragments of your Fade spirit that have not yet faded.”

 

Anders chewed on his bottom lip as he pondered the question. “It was Justice I felt and that beckoned me. I had no idea where you went when you searched for Lianni. I just…followed that feeling.”

 

Again, Fenris nodded. “But that would mean you did not kill him in the Fade.”

 

The mage shuddered at the memory. “Marethari told you Fade spirits that cease to exist sometimes regenerate…are reborn, if you want to call it that.”

 

“And yet, if a creature ceases to exist, wouldn’t it stop existing completely? She also mentioned they will regenerate, with no memories of their past. Lianni, though, was a bundle of Fade spirit energy loaded with _your_ memories. Her saying she comes from the Circle. The name. Her love for cats although she’s never seen one to this day.” Fenris sighed. “You two are still connected, Anders.”

 

“Fenris, I _know_ what happened in the Fade, better than anyone else,” Anders grunted out. “If you are telling me now I am lying –“

 

“I am saying no such thing, mage,” Fenris interrupted. “I am saying, suggesting really, that what you fought in the Fade was _not_ Justice.”

 

Amber eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

 

“What if your death did indeed separate Justice and you? What if you both returned to the Fade, except either of you ended up in a different realm? What if that demon you fought was never Justice, but a demon trying to seduce you? What if it took Justice’s shape in order to fool you and you sensed something was wrong with it?” Fenris grabbed Anders by the chin, forcing the mage to look at him. “What if Justice has never been corrupted?”

 

“Are you…” Anders shook his head, as much as he was able in the elf’s firm grasp. “Are you _defending_ him?”

 

“It’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Fenris asked. “Demons can take the shapes of whatever we find pleasing or that offers a sense of saftey, can’t they?”

 

The mage’s eyes widened a fraction more and suddenly, he felt cold. “They do.”

 

“You were able to host a Fade spirit inside your body for years,” Fenris murmured. “Surely, a demon would feel most attracted to someone like you and without your Fade spirit around to keep you safe, he would attempt to take possession of your body, while making you believe he’s your friend.”

 

Fenris could see realization in the other man’s eyes and it was almost painful to learn that Anders had not even once considered this to be an option until now. For years, Anders had been the one arguing that Justice was no demon, had defended the Fade spirit while admitting that Justice wasn’t some friendly being but representing some hard, sharp and cold like a blade. Anders had never lied about the fact that Justice fought for what they believed right and just until the bitter end without compromise.

 

“You never even considered this to be a possibility, did you?” Fenris asked gently and Anders shook his head. “Which would be my fault.”

 

“Fenris, that’s ridiculous…”

 

“You woke up and the second thing you said to me was ‘You were right’,” the elf reminded.

 

Anders’ lips parted; it was obvious the mage wanted to argue but no words came. Again, he shook his head as he thought about that day. “But…then what happened to Justice?”

 

“The same demon, maybe?” Fenris suggested. “Except it was not entirely successful, as Lianni’s presence in our world proves.” He gently grasped Anders’ shoulders. “Justice is still a part of you, Anders. You once said you feel a sense of belonging when Lianni is close to you. You have days in which you hold a protective hand over her and keep her close, and days when you push her away. You share emotions, something I have wondered about ever since we left Kirkwall. When you laugh, so does she. When you get upset, she is distressed, when you _cry_ , she is sad.”

 

“Then why the apologies?” Anders asked tiredly. “Why did Justice feel the need to make amends?”

 

“You will have to see his apologies in a different context, mage. You believed he apologized for turning into a demon that attacked you in the Fade. What if Justice spoke of something else?”

 

Again, Anders was shaking his head, vehemently this time until Fenris’ hand still on his chin stopped him. “Think about it when you have a moment,” Fenris murmured. “We both might have been wrong, Anders. _I_ might have been wrong all this time.”

 

“All this time,” Anders repeated tonelessly, his eyes hard as they held Fenris’ gaze. “Every single one of you kept telling me over the years that he’s dangerous, that _we_ are dangerous and you, of all people, suddenly believe that he wasn’t after all? Why was I even supposed to believe he hadn’t betrayed me? That the darkness in me didn’t corrupt Justice, when that’s all I was told, again and again and again?”

 

“I apologize,” the elf replied gently. “Obviously, I do not possess the necessary knowledge and was blinded by my hate and fear.”

 

The mage sighed. “ _Obviously_ , it doesn’t matter anymore. I might never find out the truth.”

 

“Unless Lianni can tell you.”

 

Anders frowned. The Templar murmured in his sleep, but looked less distressed than he had about an hour ago. The magic was working well and the mage couldn’t help but smile at the irony. He remembered when the most powerful mages, especially those specialized in magic suitable for battles, had left Kinloch Hold to aid the King Cailan and the Grey Wardens at Ostagar. How angry he’d been, that the same people who allowed mages to be taken away from their families and locked up in towers for the rest of their lives, demanded the assistance of those they otherwise didn’t care for much or treated like monsters.

 

And most of them had found their death at Ostagar. If Anders hadn’t decided to be rebellious, he probably would have been one of them.

 

“We should leave at sunrise,” Fenris murmured.

 

“You still want to leave?” Anders asked. “It’s not like we have to hide who we are any longer. Roan won’t betray us, I trust him. We could all go to Ostwick.”

 

“We endanger them all if we stay, Anders,” Fenris objected. “If Vael is after us, with the Templars, they will not ask questions. There are children among these people. They have suffered enough.”

 

“I know...I know.” The mage offered Fenris a half-smile. “I just miss having people around us. I miss Kirkwall. I  miss Hawke and Varric, Izzy...”

 

“So do I, and we will see them again,” the elf promised. “But the time isn’t now. For now, we have to keep our friends safe and find a way to the allies we have left. The Grey Warden order.”

 

Anders chuckled. “I wonder if Velanna will like you. She generally doesn’t like anyone and the only person she respects is Mael.”

 

“You shall tell me more about her,” Fenris decided with a smile. “I wish to be prepared for the people I am going to face once we made it to Amaranthine.”

 

“I feel like I should apologize in advance.”

 

The elf laughed softly, which made the Templar stir and groan. Anders glanced at the man; he was not quite ready to wake up yet. The mage figured it would take until dawn.

 

Lori stepped into the tent, bringing a bowl of soup and water with her. She eyed the unconscious Templar before offering Anders and Fenris a smile. “I suppose he’s not ready yet to eat something?”

 

“No,” Anders confirmed. “Still resting. I can’t tell if he’ll be able to travel, come morning.”

 

“And what do you plan on doing? He was half dead for days.”

 

“I’ll give him lyrium.”

 

Lori made a face. “You want to feed his addiction?” she asked.

 

Anders shrugged. “It’s the only thing that will make him function. Obviously, he will only receive small amounts, less and less over time, until his body managed to fight the withdrawal.”

 

Lori nodded and knelt to put the food and water down. “I wasn’t aware they do something like this to Templars.”

 

“It’s a well-kept secret of the order,” Anders explained quietly. “The Templars gain their abilities from the lyrium they take. The abilities needed to strike down a mage, if a situation calls for it. Very unpleasant thing, I can tell you. The first time, I was sick for three days.”

 

“How old were you then?” Fenris asked.

 

“Fifteen. And on the run. I had meant to cast a spell at them so I could run, but they were faster.”

 

Lori chuckled. “And did you get faster since?”

 

Anders smiled. “Much. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have managed to remain free this long.”

 

Lori hummed in agreement and stood, brushing sand and dust off her skirt. “You should look after your child, Healer. She seems scared and refuses to leave your bedroll.”

 

Fenris glanced at Anders expectantly.

 

“Thank you, Lori. I will,” the mage promised. Lori nodded and left the tent. They heard her call for Roan to come to bed. Someone marched past the tent. One of the guards, Anders thought. He wondered what time it was.

 

“I told her,” Fenris said quietly. “She asked where she came from, and why she doesn’t have parents, like the other children do. I am not sure she understood completely, at least not the...non-spirit part of hers.”

 

“She’s almost like Justice and I used to be. Two different personalities in one.” Anders sighed.

 

“Let’s go check on her,” Fenris suggested.

 

“No. I’ll go alone.” The mage smiled tiredly. “Stay here and let me know if he wakes up, should I not return beforehand.”

 

“Are you certain?”

 

“I need to, whether I feel certain about this or not.”

 

 

Anders hadn’t been aware how terrible it smelled inside the Templar’s tent until he stepped outside and was greeted by cool night air. He took a deep breath and suppressed a cough. Death certainly had been on the Templar’s doorstep, there was no mistaking the smell and suddenly, Anders wasn’t so sure if he’d indeed be able to save the man’s life. It wasn’t that he’d truly mourn a Templar’s death, but now that he had decided to try and save him, Anders was determined to succeed. After all, that man had left the safety of the order to go with Roan and the others and possibly offer them protection.

 

He passed the large fire in the center of the camp. Roan and Lori were just about to go to sleep; he could make out their silhouettes and hear Lori’s whispers. One of the men that had been with Roan when he’d found Anders and Fenris walked passed him, offering a short nod in greeting. Anders responded with a half-smile and hurried across the camp toward the group of trees where they had set up their own little camp.

 

Lianni was waiting, sitting up straight on his bedroll. She was once again clinging to that flower bouquet she’d carried around all day. It had lost some petals and the flowers were drooping after an entire day without water.

 

Anders approached her slowly and sat on the ground. Lianni pursed her lips and tucked on her bouquet until Anders’ hair tie came off. She handed it over wordlessly and mustered the dying flowers with sadness.

 

“You were very brave earlier,” Anders said softly, “trying to protect Fenris from the Templar.”

 

“He’s one of the bad people,” Lianni whispered. “I didn’t want him to hurt Fenris.”

 

“I know.” Anders fiddled with his hair tie.

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

Anders smiled. “No. I have no reason to be mad. You did the right thing.”

 

“I did?” She sounded hopeful. “Will you...like me a little better now?”

 

The mage frowned. “What makes you think I don’t like you?”

 

Lianni shrugged and put the flowers aside before drawing her knees up to her chest. Her dress was ruined; it was dirty and torn in some places.

  
“I assume I gave you that feeling, didn’t I?” Anders admitted. “Fenris said he told you were you come from. Is that true?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you understand what he was trying to tell you?”

 

“He said I am different. That I wasn’t born like the other children and that’s why I don’t have a mama or papa.” Lianni pursed her lips.

 

“He is right.” Anders drew his knees up as well and rested his chin on them. “We don’t fully understand how you came to be. We can only guess, and learn while we have you with us. But a part of you was once a part of me. I once hosted a spirit of justice in my body. We got separated. I don’t know what happened to him but it seems it resulted in you.” He paused and recalled his conversation with Fenris earlier. “For a while now, I believed Justice had become a demon. Corrupted by the hate and anger inside of me. I believed I had destroyed him in the Fade because he had become a threat.”

 

“Like the shadows?” Lianni asked.

 

“Shadows?”

 

“The dark ones. I am scared of them.”

 

Anders looked around. “Do you see them often?”

 

“Sometimes. But they stay away.” Lianni chewed on her bottom lip. “I think they are scared of you.”

 

The mage laughed softly. “They better be, they have every reason to,” he quipped and Lianni smiled. “But what I was trying to explain is...I could sense him within you. I was scared he had somehow managed to return from the Fade, possessed another body and would hurt the people I love.”

 

Big green eyes glanced up to him. “But I didn’t hurt anyone,” she whispered. “I promise.”

 

“I know,” Anders assured. He reached over and caressed over Lianni’s head, enjoying the soft texture of her hair. Her head felt so tiny beneath his palm; it was incredible. Lianni leaned into the touch, her surprise clearly visible on her face. “I don’t know how much of you was reborn, and how much is still left of my old friend Justice,” Anders said. “But if you _can_ hear me, know that you have been given an incredible chance. You can now grow and learn, you can develop emotions and understand what being mortal is like.” He sighed. “But in order to achieve that, you need to let go. You need to let go of my memories that have formed parts of you. You need to let go of the realms beyond the Veil. You have to make your own memories, your own experiences. Decide who _you_ want to be.”

 

Lianni looked at him curiously. Anders’ hand was still caressing her head gently. It felt nice and he didn’t want to stop. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked.

 

“I don’t,” Lianni whispered. “But he does.”

 

Anders swallowed down the tears he felt coming up and sent a silent apology to his lost friend that he had possibly wronged during the past months. “Good,” he murmured. “And now it’s high time for little girls to go to sleep. The other children have long gone to bed and you are doing the same now.”

 

“Will you stay?” Lianni asked as she hurried to get under the blanket.

 

“Yes.” Anders leaned forward and tucked the blanket around Lianni’s tiny form, once she had gotten settled.

 

“I picked the flowers for you. Mia said everyone likes flowers.” Lianni glanced at the flowers in question and Anders did the same. “Now they aren’t pretty anymore.”

 

Anders exhaled shakily and reached for the flowers. He looked at them, as much as he was able to in the dark and finally offered Lianni an encouraging smile. “They are beautiful.”

 

Lianni answered with a brilliant smile of her own and snuggled further into the blanket. Anders moved until he was seated right next to her, one hand returning to the child’s head, the other resting on the flowers. “Now close your eyes and sleep,” he said and heard Lianni sigh softly. “I’ll keep the shadows away.”

 

Lianni inched closer, one tiny arm snaking out from under the blanket and wrapping around his right thigh. Anders huffed out a surprised laugh and watched as Lianni finally closed her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she truly slept or if the spirit part of her simply returned to the Fade for a while.

 

“Farewell, Justice,” he whispered. “Thank you.”


End file.
